


This Family comes with Batteries

by Fishwrites, lynneh



Series: Batteries Verse [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Prometheus (2012), The Avengers (2012), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abduction, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Artificial Intelligence, Betrayal, Bot Feels, Canonical Character Death, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Child Neglect, Childhood, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Parent Tony Stark, Superhusbands, Telepathy, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 93,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwrites/pseuds/Fishwrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynneh/pseuds/lynneh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A orphaned Charles Xavier goes to live with his Godfather: Tony Stark. This story is a tale of what would have happened to the events of MCU, if Tony was raising a six year old telepath in Stark Tower. There is also the matter of Charles' robot AI manny/bodyguard/tutor/only-friend, David. </p><p>Embedded illustrations by Lynneh.</p><p>NEXT UPDATE: 30th June 2016 (it's coming soon; sorry I'm late!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**P R O L O G U E**

 

:i:

_One year ago. The Xavier Estate, Westchester._

 

The first time Charles meets Uncle Tony he is five and it’s his birthday.

In a fit of motherly regret, Sharon Xavier had arranged a party; a summer evening drenched in sugar and cake for her only child. It’s the first party he’s ever had, and Charles isn’t sure he likes it all that much because there are too many voices inside too many heads, a constant overlapping stream that makes him feel a little nauseas. They live out in the country for this very reason – or so his mother often says, and she doesn’t care enough to hide the resentment that flickers beneath the surface of her thoughts. It always lingers, an aftertaste at the back of Charles’ throat and it would be a few years before he realises that it resembles alcohol. Charles knows his mother likes the city, and misses the parties, but his father says Charles is too young to cope with living near so many people right now, so they live in the country estate.

He’s been standing by his mother all evening dutifully, smiling (because it was his birthday) and shaking hands (because the adults thought it was precious). He mostly tried to block all the voices from his head, and ignore the ones he couldn’t un-hear.

His father rescues him from a lady with too much lipstick, who seemed intent on pinching Charles’ cheek until he bruised. Charles felt the warm, reassuring hum of his father’s mind winding its way through the crowd of chattering legs (Charles was too short to see above much else). But this time, he was accompanied by someone with very loud thoughts.

“Charlie,” said Brian Xavier, laying an affectionate hand on top of Charles’ hair. His mother winced. “This is Mister Stark – he’s your Godfather.”

Charles tilted his head back so he could see Mister Stark’s face, blinking rapidly at the barrage of inner-monologue that became even louder as the man’s attention narrowed in on Charles.

_Oh look he’s short, got puppy eyes – adorable really – looks like his mother. Godawful mini suit I remember being dressed in those, fucking bowties it’s always with the bow ties granted they do look cute but honestly overkill what is it with mothers and bow ties and their five year olds it’s like a disease we can’t cure maybe I will put JARVIS on that, right after I buy that kid a comfortable hoodie, cute kid, not bad, probably a snotty brat though –_

His mother, fingers pinching into his shoulder with a small shake.

“ _Charles_.”

Charles blinked hard, realising he must have zoned out. He gave his mother an apologetic look, before holding out his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. Then asked, “Are you family?” because there seemed to be a lot of distantly related relatives in the photo albums upstairs and Charles could never remember.

The man staring down at him had bright eyes, a neatly trimmed goatee and a bright, shiny watch on his wrist. His suit was the colour of the wine in his glass, deep burgundy red. He seemed like someone Charles should try to impress.

“Nah,” said Mister Stark, “Just a good friend.”

“I’m Charles,” he said carefully around each syllable, “Thank you for coming to my birthday.”

_Aww fuck, he’s even got that accent._

‘Mister Stark’ dropped down to balance on the balls of his feet, and took Charles’ hand in his own.

“Hey Charles. Call me Tony, okay?”

Tony had a smudge of lipstick at the edge of his mouth. Charles could see the red mark, faint. He tried to concentrate on the little visual details to help block out Tony’s thoughts, but it was like seeing double – and it made his eyes ache.

“Okay,” he said.

“Great,” said Tony, brightly, then pulled a large, square box out of nowhere and shoved it into Charles’ arms.

Charles blinked in surprise. He hadn’t needed to open any of the presents before already knowing what was inside of it. But Tony hadn’t even been thinking about the present. In fact, he was thinking loudly about a strawberry frosted doughnut, bright red with jam filling and colourful sprinkles –

Charles’ eyes widened, and he sent out a tentative tendril:

_Can you….?_

Tony Stark gave him an exaggerated wink.

_Yeah kiddo._

_!!!!!_ sent Charles.

“Go on, open it,” said his father. But Sharon was frowning, giving the box a suspicious sort of look.

“I don’t know, perhaps you should put it with the others and open it later when – “

“Nah,” said Tony, waving his glass, “Open it now! Trust me Charles, this will beat all your other shitty presents.”

The disapproval from his mother was bright and loud in Charles’ head, making him wince.

It was certainly a very _colourful_ present; wrapped in violently gold paper, which was so shiny, Charles could see his own face reflected back in the foil. Tony Stark sat down on the parquet floor, expensive suit and all, before patting his knee.

“C’mon kid. This kind’a flat surface is best for it anyway.”

“Best for _what?”_ asked Sharon, looking faintly alarmed now. “Honestly, this isn’t appropriate – Brian you tell –“

“I’m sure it won’t be terribly destructive,” said Charles’ father, “Go on Charlie, open it.”

Charles sat down (Mister Stark did make a comfortable chair) and carefully stuck his fingernail beneath the edge of tape. He peeled back the tape and wrapping paper to reveal a nondescript cardboard box, which had STARK INDUSTRIES on the side in silver lettering.

“Yeah it was the only box I had lying around, don’t mind it. Made it especially for you,” said Tony.

Charles opened the box with clumsy, child fingers. Shifting aside the white plastic foam bubbles, his fingers found something cool, heavy and metallic. There seemed to be joints of some kind. Charles lifted the contraption out of the box, excited by the anticipation emanating from Mister Stark. He stared at the thing in his hands, then turned it around.

It seemed to be a dog.

“A robot dog!” announced Tony with a flourishing gesture that nearly dislodged Charles from his knee ( _Oops, sorry kid.)_ “Comes with batteries and everything! Here.”

He helped Charles locate the on-off switch, nestled between two smooth metallic plates of the dog’s belly. Tony’s hands were big, warm and rough with callouses, showing Charles how to turn the dog on. Charles twisted the switch carefully. Immediately, the dog’s eyes lit up, electronic green, and its head turned with a _whirr_! Surprised, Charles dropped it – but the dog merely rolled over on the floor once, then righted itself on its paws.

Then it barked.

Charles laughed – and he felt the wonder and curiosity of the people standing around them (a crowd had slowly formed). It was a good feeling, overwhelmed by the sense of satisfaction that seemed to cocoon Charles’ head. He decided he liked Tony Stark; a stranger who made him a robot dog because he knew that his mother disapproved of pets and fur and claws in the house and said she was allergic even though she wasn’t, not really. Maybe Tony Stark was telepathic too?

“Sit!” said Tony. The dog sat, tail wagging. It was looking at Charles, expectantly.

“Roll over?” Charles commanded, tentatively.

The dog rolled, coming to a stop by Charles’ shoes, four metallic paws waving in the air. Charles picked up the dog and held him close to his chest, liking the reassuring weight of it, and the hum of it’s little electronic heart. He was smiling so hard he thought he must be projecting, because everyone else was smiling too, even his mother –

The dog licked his face, tongue cold and smooth. Charles giggled.

Tony was still sitting on the floor, watching him with his head tilted to one side.

 _Like it?_ He thought, smiling.

 _Yes!_ Thought Charles, thinking of happiness and warmth and gratefulness and the taste of chocolate milk and trying to push it towards Tony as hard as he could, _thank you thank you best present so awesome my own pet mother won’t disapprove pet yes!_

Then, because he thought it might not have gotten the point across, he set the dog down on the floor and gave Mister Stark a hug around the neck. The dog barked twice, nudging at Charles’ ankles until his socks started to slip.

_What are you going to name him?_

_…Tony?_

_What!_ Indignation, but a smile around the edge of the emotion. _No. How bout Lassie._

_Max._

_Fine._

_Max Stark._

Tony laughed then, a full bodied thing with his head thrown back. Then he downed his drink in one and straightened, disentangling his limbs from Charles’ small ones. Charles picked Max up again, because mother was worried about the metallic paws scratching up the parquet and he didn’t want his new friend to be confiscated so soon. His father was stroking his hair in a fond way that made Charles sleepy.

“Trust you to make him something like this, Tony,” Brian was saying, “what else can that robot do?”

Tony shrugged.

“Fetch the newspaper. Read the newspaper. Poop.”

“ _Poop?_ ” repeated Sharon, incredulous, while Brian laughed.

Charles giggled again, because he had never heard his mother say ‘poop’ before. Tony gave him another wink. Max wriggled in Charles’ arms, tail beating a steady rhythm against the skin of his wrist.

“You think I’m joking, but I’m really not,” said Tony (Charles knew he was joking though) with a straight face, “I created that thing to you know. Teach Charles’ the responsibilities of raising a child. Pet. Whatever. Same thing.”

Sharon sniffed, coming forwards and tugging Charles closer to her and away from Tony.

“Alright. Well. Charles, what do you say to Mister Stark?”

“Thank you for Max,” said Charles dutifully.

Tony only raised his glass.

“Alright baby,” said Sharon, hand still on Charles’ shoulder, “I suppose it’s only polite for you to open all your other presents. Give that thing to your father for now. Go on.”

“But – “

His mother gave him a look.

Charles reluctantly handed Max over to his father. Max whined, and his ears drooped. Charles reached for him again.

 _It’s okay Charlie boy,_ thought his father, _it’ll be in your room for afterwards. Okay?_

_Don’t turn him off?_

_Alright, kiddo._

_Promise?_

A mental chuckle, fond and warm like a hug.

_I promise._

“Brian – stop encouraging him,” said his mother, voice very quiet so no one else would overhear, then, to Charles: “Use your words.”

“Sorry mother,” said Charles, contrite.

A little way away, Tony was thinking loudly about doughnuts again.

 

 

:i:

 

Three months later, Charles’ least favourite guest came to visit because the Markos were family friends (that mother liked but father disliked.)

Cain threw Max in the fountain in a fit of jealousy. And that was how they found out that Max was both waterproof and had a vindictive personality (he regurgitated the water as a yellow dye which stained Cain’s pants in a highly suggestive manner.)

Then Cain threw Max out of a fourth story window, and broke his neck.

Charles was inconsolable for weeks.

 

:i:

 

The next time Charles meets Tony Stark, both his parents were dead.

 

:i:

 


	2. Arc 1, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is packed up and shipped off to Stark Tower. (In which Tony Stark raises children like he raises his robots; and deals with grief in much the same way)

:i:

 

 _“Sorrow makes us all children again.”_  
– R.W. Emerson

 

:i:

**ONE**

:i:

 

_The Xavier Estate, Westchester County. Present Day._

 

Later, his father would tell him about how Charles didn’t start talking until he was about three – not even a ‘mama’ or ‘dada’.

“You were the quietest baby,” his father had said, as they folded paper aeroplanes together in the dark mahogany study. Babies usually started making words a lot earlier than that, Charles learned, but he hadn’t until he was three years old. His mother had been worried, the visiting doctor had been a bit worried. But his father hadn’t been.

“You could find us wherever we were in the house,” he said, pressing the paper into neat, straight creases. He paused to tap a finger on the side of his temple. “If you were hungry, your mother would know right away. If you wanted juice, we would know. If you were sleepy – well your mother always says that she’d get the urge to doze off, you were that close to her.”

She also thought Charles’ was abnormal and strange and often wished he was a bit more _normal_. But Charles didn’t tell his father that.

“How did I learn to talk?” asked Charles.

“Well,” said Brian, handing Charles the completed aeroplane, “We had to wean you off the telepathy a bit at a time. To encourage you to vocalise. I think the first thing you said was ‘may I have a cookie please.’ I don’t know who was more surprised!” His father laughed, a deep rumble that vibrated all the way through Charles’ side and through his own chest. “I remember the first time, telling you, _now Charlie, if you want something you’ve got to ask for it out loud, okay?_ And you sent me a picture of your bed instead. It certainly took a bit of time to persuade you.”

“Thoughts are quicker,” said Charles, idly turning the aeroplane over and over in his hands, careful not to bend the pointy head of it. He wasn’t sure if he could replicate the folding properly, and didn’t want to ruin this one.

His father nodded thoughtfully, “I suppose it is, isn’t it? But not everyone is comfortable with your talent my boy. They can’t appreciate it properly. So it’s best to keep it our secret for now, until you learn to control it.”

Charles looked up.

“Control it?”

His father patted his hair.

“Like a muscle,” he said. “Now. Shall we see how far your range has improved?”

“Hide and seek?” asked Charles, nearly accidentally crushing the paper plane in his hand in his excitement. This time, he heard his father’s chuckle in his head as well as through his sweater.

 _Yes,_ said his Father. His smile crinkled the edges of his thoughts like tea stained cosies. _Shall I go hide now?_

_I’ll count to a hundred!_

_A hundred! That is a long time._

_A_ HUNDRED _!!!_

 _I better get started then,_ said his Father, depositing Charles in his chair and standing up. He crossed to the door. Charles grinned at him, and started counting, letting his mind follow his father’s down the hallway, down the staircase and through the drawing room door. It tasted the leftover butter and scones from breakfast before trailing like breadcrumbs on the carpet, stuck on the edges of his father’s leather shoes. An open window, another door, then more stairs. Father was like a warm beacon of light, soft to cuddle in and always happy to see him. At first, it was disconcerting when the feeling grew fainter as his father walked further away, but Charles made himself sit tight. It was the whole point of this exercise after all.

He threw the aeroplane across the room, trying to distract himself from the niggly, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. The plane wobbled uncertainly over a low pile of books before hitting the wallpaper with a soft _thunk._ Well. That was better than the last plane they made, thought Charles.

And between one moment and the next, he realised he had lost that warm presence.

Casting his mind about the house, Charles was startled to realise that it felt disturbingly empty – no father, no mother. Had he gone that far already? Charles pushed the edges of his awareness, but it was hard without a point of reference. His own thoughts were too loud in his head, echoing and bouncing back at him. He was only up to the number sixty, but he slid off his father’s high study chair and walked to the door. He peered out onto the landing.

“Papa?”

No reply.

He felt about the house – all the way to the front door, then out onto the gravel path. Nothing – only the sound of gravel crunching and then suddenly, an almighty screech of metal –

 

Charles woke in his bed, covered in cold sweat.

 

It took him a long moment to reorient himself, as if his mind forgot that he had a body of flesh and bone to live in and was struggling to contain itself. Several rooms down, Cain was asleep and on the floor above, Kurt Marko was dreaming about money. Charles took several deep breaths, and looked at the round glow-in-the-dark clock on his bedside table.

It was barely five in the morning.

Shivering slightly in the cool air, Charles got up and pulled the curtains back from his window. It was still fairly dark outside, but he could make out black shapes near the front of the house. His own suitcases were already packed, clothes folded on the chair in front of his wardrobe.

“Big day,” he told Max, and patted the white bandage around it’s poor metal neck. “Maybe Mister Stark can fix you, so you can walk again.”

It was strange, talking and not thinking. Max whirred, wagging his tail. He could still bark and lick Charles’ hand, but the fall had broken something that connected Max’s robot brain and his legs – at least, that’s what Father had said.

“Mister Stark is a frightfully busy man I’m sure,” his mother had chided, when Charles asked if he might visit Uncle Tony and get him to look Max over. “He’ll have much better things to do than fix silly robots.”

And that had been that.

Max whined until Charles picked him up. Then he licked Charles’ hand. Charles liked to think that he was being comforted, somehow, because to think of anything else was too empty to bear. He tugged the duvet over them both and squeezed his eyes shut. This time, he didn’t dream.

 

Improving Charles’ range had been something his father had been curious about since as early as Charles could remember. It took the form of elaborate hide-and-seek games, as well as experiments involving Brian reading a newspaper on the other side of the house, with Charles recording the recitation with a data-pad. Now, at the ripe old age of six years and four months, Charles’ telepathy covered the entire estate comfortably, extending outwards to the cars that drove by into the town proper.

And that’s why he noticed the two unfamiliar minds coming near the house way before Cain came thumping on his door.

“Oi freak,” he said through the wood, “Dad says the people are here to get rid of you. Hurry up!” _finally don’t have to put up with you anymore god I hate how dad spends so much time here you think you’re so special you’re just spoilt now they’re both dead good riddance I -_

“Coming,” said Charles.

He waited until Cain was back in his own room before moving. He had been dressed for the better part of an hour, Max neatly tucked away in a backpack along with a photo-album, his laptop, papers and his father’s book on the mutation. He picked up the bag by the shoulder strap, took once last look around his bedroom, and pushed the door open.

 

There was a pretty lady in a black dress and cream jacket, waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Her sleek red hair was done up in a pony-tail, and she held a glass data pad in her arms. Her thoughts were like the tailoring of her dress, tidy and clear. Her name was Virginia Potts but she often answered to Pepper (for reasons Charles couldn’t fathom. She was angry and upset about something Tony said that morning, though when she smiled at Charles, it was a smile that reached her eyes. Over her shoulder, a stranger stood by Charles’ suitcases. He was one of the tallest people Charles had ever seen, with wide shoulders and sunglasses on his head. He was thinking about how sad things were _–_ and Charles tried to block him out too.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and held out his free hand for Miss Potts to shake. His mother would have wanted him to have perfect manners, especially at a time like this.

“Hello,” said Charles, “How do you do?”

“Oh sweetie,” she said, the pity rolling off her in waves, bending down (even though it must have been hard in those tall shoes), “I’m Miss Potts, and I’m quite alright, thank you.” She took his hand, and then pulled him into an awkward hug. “Kur- Mister Marko said you were all packed. Have you got everything?”

_Oh my god, how could Tony just – he’s just lost his entire family in one go and, poor boy, so polite –_

Charles nodded and tried to give her a smile that six year olds were meant to give when they were assumed too young to understand what it meant when your parents minds went blank and never flickered back again.

“Think so,” he said, instead.

She had one hand on his shoulder, because she thought he needed comforting.

“Well, if you realise you forgot anything, we can always pick it up for you,” said Miss Potts, smile still firmly in place.

Kurt Marko came through the front door at that point, and paused at the scene in front of him.

“All done then?” he said, flatly.

“Yes sir,” said Charles.

“Good. You behave yourself.”

“Yes sir,” said Charles.

The man by the door gave a discreet cough, and Pepper straightened, hand still on Charles’ shoulder.

“Sweetheart, this is Mr. Hogan – “

“Call me Happy,” said Mr. Hogan. (Charles thought it was a rather strange name, but not strange in a bad way).

“ – And he’ll get you settled in the car, alright? It’s a bit of a drive. I’ve just got a few things to go over with Mister Marko here.”

“Okay,” said Charles obligingly. He shouldered his bag again and followed ‘Happy’ out the front doors. Happy picked up both of Charles’ suitcases as if they weighed nothing at all and carried them down the steps towards a sleek black limousine that was waiting for them beside the fountain. The number plate read _STARK7_.

There was a spike of anger from Kurt, and Charles turned reflexively, worried. Kurt’s thoughts were loud and toxic, overlapping with the words he was actually saying.

 _How dare you suggest –_ “What gives you the right to even take the papers?”

“Oh,” Miss Potts was saying, calm yet steely, “Not my right. Mister Stark’s.”

“And why isn’t Mister Stark here himself?”

A flat unhappy line from Miss Pott’s thoughts.

“He’s currently occupied with company matters, as I’m sure you can understand. Now, do I have to interrupt him with a call – or will you show me the way to the study?”

 _The bitch, what has that dead bastard hidden inside that room that he doesn’t want me to –_ “Fine. Tell _Mister Stark_ to expect a call from my lawyers very soon.”

A hand, waving in front of his face. Charles blinked.

“Zoned out for a bit, kiddo,” said Happy, “You alright?”

“Just a bit tired,” Charles lied.

Happy patted him on the shoulder.

 “I’m sure Miss Potts won’t take long. Do you want me to put your bag in the back?”

Charles shook his head, thinking of Max.

“Okay,” said Happy amiably, helping Charles step up into the limo and setting the bag onto the leather seat next to him. It was a big car, the edges of the windows lined with walnut panelling and soft gallery lights inlaid to the roof. Charles ran a hand over the soft beige leather. There was a stack of papers under a glass paperweight, a red handbag on the seat opposite as well as a pair of shoes on the floor. A stack of square crystal tumblers stood on a shelf near a minibar. Happy pressed something in the panel beside the door and a screen detached itself from an armrest, making Charles jump.

“Movies,” explained Happy, as the screen flickered to life.

 _StarkTech,_ said the screen in tasteful black lettering, before blinking to blue. There was a screen with the same logo on it in his father’s study, and the familiarity of it made Charles want to cry. He blinked hard instead, squeezing his eyes shut. His mother always detested crying of any sort.

“Thank you,” he said instead.

“It’s a touch screen,” explained Happy, taking Charles’ inaction as confusion. _Poor kid,_ he was thinking over and over, and the sympathy was genuine if suffocating.

“I know,” said Charles politely, “But I think I’ll nap.”

“Sure thing,” said Happy, “There are blankets in those drawers and pillows next to that one.”

Charles obediently reached under his seat and tugged on the smooth wooden handles. Sure enough, there were neatly folded blankets and pillows there. He retrieved one and spread it out over himself, just so he had something to do with his hands. He didn’t want to eavesdrop on Miss Pepper, or Mister Marko – but both their thoughts were practically echoing through the empty house.

His father’s notes on Charles’ telepathy, locked in the safe in his study; handwritten notes so no one could hack the data pads. Paper bound in expensive leather, pencil marks smudged on the edges. Sitting in his father’s lap while they played thought experiments – pictures, numbers, thoughts and sounds for Charles to grab at –

Charles tried to stop the hiccup that rose in his throat, and it came out as a wet sniffle instead. The sound made Happy’s thoughts blare with alarm. _Oh shit, he’s going to cry what am I going to do with a bawling kid jesus I’m not –_ It was so loud, and so close, it made his head hurt – _Pepper bought candy with her didn’t she, where –_

“I don’t want sweets,” snapped Charles, without thinking.

Then he clapped a hand over his mouth, staring horrified at Happy’s stunned expression.

For a second, no one breathed.

Mother had always said _keep it a secret,_ and _be normal, be normal,_ and _it’s strange and people won’t accept you_ and _it doesn’t bear thinking about._ Charles forgets what she said to him out loud, and what she said to herself in her head, but the words were etched into the inside of his bones like a mantra keeping him safe inside the house. Everything felt cold and hot at once, his face flushed and his heart going _thumpthumpthump._ Maybe Happy wouldn’t know, maybe he won’t suspect, maybe…

“I – I didn’t mean – ” Shut up, stupid stupidstupidstupid don’t say anything!

_Did this kid just read my mind?_

Charles felt like he was going to throw up.

He burst into tears instead, a sob making it past his mouth before he could clamp both hands over his face. Happy looked as distraught as the thoughts rattling around both their minds (Charles’ couldn’t think or hear beyond a rapid fire of _secretsecretno no no no mother always warned -_ ).

“Hey. _Hey,”_ said Happy, reaching for Charles, “It’s okay! You don’t have to have any candy if you don’t - What’s wrong? Come on, kid.”

He hunkered down in the seat opposite Charles and pulled out a box of tissues from nowhere.

“Hey,” he said again, then cleared his throat, eyes darting towards the open limo door, “C’mon don’t cry now. Pepper will kill me.”

Charles took a tissue and pressed that to his face. He took two deep, calming breaths until he was quiet again, with barely a hiccup to show for it. He had had a lot of practice with being quiet. He took another tissue.

They sat in silence for a few long minutes, until Charles was sure his voice was back under control. His face was still burning, but this time with embarrassment. He snuck a glance at Happy’s expression from under his lashes.

“Sorry,” he said, when he could talk without wobbling too much.

“Don’t apologise,” said Happy, giving Charles a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Under the circumstances – I mean it’s a big – you must be upset with everything going on. Perfectly – that is to say… Um. Do you want something to drink?” Without really waiting for an answer, he turned away (relief) to pop open the mini fridge next to him. Bottles clinked. Charles was sure he wasn’t old enough to drink most of the things in there because he wasn’t old enough to drink most other things that clinked in his mother’s cabinets either.

“Orange juice?” asked Happy after a pause.

“Yes, please,” said Charles, because he could hear how much Happy wanted to help, could feel the relief Charles’ brief bout of tears was over. He pressed a tall heavy glass of orange juice into Charles’ hands. Charles took a big gulp, then winced when it gave him brain freeze. He still had his face scrunched up in discomfort when there was the sound of footsteps on hard-soled shoes and Ms. Pepper’s mind touched the edges of Charles’ awareness.

His fingers were leaving smudge marks in the condensation.

A moment later, Ms. Pepper appeared at the limo door, a very thick brief case under one arm. She took one look at Charles and her mind flared into a flurry of contingency plans: _tissues, books under the front seat to distract Charles, candy and chocolate in the bar fridge, tablet with games on them –_

Charles tried to give her his best smile over the rim of his glass, and was relieved when Ms. Potts’ awkward uncertainty abated. He had to work on his shielding a bit more. Father never really worked out a proper exercise for him yet before he had…well.

Ms. Potts gave him a little figure wave as she set her bags down on an empty seat.

“Good to go,” she said to Happy, who nodded at her, then patted Charles on the knee.

“Well,” he said with a bright voice that was only slightly forced (Charles was used to this – for some reason adults seemed to put on an abnormally cheerful façade whenever they were confronted by children around the height of their waists.), “Straight to the tower. It’s a good hour and a bit, so if you need to stop for a break just…” he rapped his knuckles against the lowered glass partition between the body of the limo and the driver’s side.

Charles glanced at Ms. Potts, who was smiling at him too, and nodded. He tried to take another sip of orange juice but realised that the glass was empty.

Happy squeezed past them to the door, shut it, and reappeared again on the driver’s side of the car.

“Refill?” asked Ms. Pepper, reaching for Charles’ glass.

“Um,” said Charles, because it was taking all of his concentration to keep the mental wall up in his head, “No thank you. Had lots.”

She took the glass anyway and put it in a plastic compartment on top of the mini fridge. The car purred into a start, tyres crunching on the gravel as Happy pulled it round the fountain. Ms. Potts was toeing off her high heel shoes and slipping her feet into the comfy shoes on the floor with a sigh. Cain was thinking about what he wanted for lunch, and Mr. Marko was a cloud of unpleasant thoughts for Ms. Potts and Uncle Tony. Charles could taste the sourness of suspicion, even as he watched the house recede as the car pulled onto the winding driveway towards the main gates.

Charles’ bag moved by his elbow, drawing him back to himself.

Charles’ bag barked.

“What…?” said Ms. Potts, glancing curiously at the bag, “Surely you didn’t – “

“It’s just Max,” explained Charles quickly, because Ms. Potts thought it was a live dog that he had stuffed into his backpack (not that Max wasn’t alive, because he _was.)_ To clarify, he unzipped the biggest compartment of the bag. The barking got louder, and Charles picked Max up apologetically.

“Oh!” said Pepper, “I remember that – Tony – I mean Mister Stark showed it to me. For your birthday, wasn’t it?”

Charles patted Max’s head, and adjusted the thick bandage.

“Yeah,” said Charles. He paused, before looking at Ms. Potts. “Is Mister Stark very busy right now?”

Ms. Potts looked uncomfortable. She was also thinking some very disparaging thoughts about Tony and _insensitive bastard, I told him he needed to come himself and –_

“I mean – just hoping maybe… that,” Charles interrupted hastily, “maybe he could fix Max?” He angled the dog so Ms. Potts could see the neck properly, “Cain broke him and Father couldn’t fix him after...”

“Oh,” said Ms. Potts, staring at Max, expression unreadable.

“Do you think I could ask?” prompted Charles (because talking with Ms. Potts was better than watching his home disappear between the trees, or hearing the familiar sound of the gate opening and shutting.

“I’m sure Tony will fix him up in no time,” said Ms. Potts, smiling a watery sort of smile, “He’s always got time for _(his robots)_ – he’ll always have time for you, okay?”

“Okay,” said Charles agreeably, because children weren’t supposed to know more than they were told after all.

There was a long moment of silence, wherein Pepper repositioned her bags for something to do and Charles patted Max some more. He waited. And waited. Then he yawned, unable to stop himself.

“Tired?” asked Pepper immediately.

Charles nodded. Pepper stood up, reaching over to the opposite side of the car. After a bit of fiddling, one end of the seat rose up to make a gradual incline. She took on the pillows Charles had taken out earlier and propped it up against the seat.

“There,” she said, “We’ve still got a good hour left at least. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

“Okay,” said Charles.

Max barked again, and licked Ms. Potts’ hand when it strayed too close. She gave a gasp, then laughed. A knot in Charles’ chest loosened a bit at the sound. He undid his shoelaces, slipping his feet out and tucking them onto the leather seat. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, making sure that both him and Max were underneath it. Then he turned to face the seat so Pepper could pretend that he fell asleep right away.

Happy was thinking about how Charles was going to love the bedroom Tony had designed for him, and how he hoped it would _cheer the kid up, poor boy_. Pepper was thinking of numbers and sequences and the absence of Tony in the car with them, the disappointment heavy in her chest (and in Charles’). She was thinking about whether Charles was reading her mind right at this very moment (as soon as she had come within range of the house, she had _known_ , Tony had told her as if it was his secret to tell – and maybe it was, now that Father and Mother were dead.)

Charles waited.

Perhaps he had been more exhausted than he thought, because somewhere along the line, he fell asleep.

 

:i:

 

_Somewhere near central NYC._

Charles woke long before they got to Stark Tower. The city woke him, the buzz of noise in his head growing louder and louder in an alarming crescendo until someone was shaking him, dragging his mind all the way into consciousness. Reflexively, he searched for his Father, (Papa? Hungry. Awake now!) and found only empty space. Then it just crashed over him like a wave.

Someone was whining, a soft whimpering sound at the back of their throat. Charles thought it was Max, thinking he had squished him in his sleep, before a particularly loud wave of _noisechattervoicestoomuchtoomuch_ spiked behind his eyes. He cried out – and suddenly realised it was him making that noise.

A hand on his shoulder. Mummy’s hand. No, Ms. Potts’ hand. She was saying something, but Charles couldn’t hear her over the sound of someone who had just caught her husband in bed with another woman and it was like knives in his throat the sensation of trying not to cry and why was that fucking motorcyclist cutting him off fucking idiots coffee hot and scalding on his hand, it burned and Charles snatched it back with a gasp -

“… _arles,_ _Charles!_ ”

“Loud,” said Charles, scrunching his eyes shut. It didn’t help. He tried to withdraw back into himself, imagining the empty expanse of the lawns back home and the tall wooden walls of the house, placing himself back in his room in the middle of it. But he couldn’t concentrate because his head _hurt_ and there was no one to hold onto.

He scrambled for his bag, nearly knocking Max to the floor. Fumbling for the smallest pocket, he pulled out the injection pen his father had given him a long time ago. He hadn’t needed to use it for a while now, and they thought he’d been getting better at shielding. Clearly his range was improving faster than his shielding could catch up on and _god,_ he just wanted it to _stop_.

Ms. Potts was dabbing at his face with a tissue, worry and panic pouring off her – almost loud enough to drown out the rest of the city but not quite. She held her phone to her ear with her free hand, and was shouting into it. The car swerved around a corner, making them all tilt to the left.

“…having a panic attack or something! One second he was fine and he was – what? No, he was just sleeping! What do you mean I shouldn’t have woken hi – YOU DRUGGED THE ORANGE JUICE?”

There was blood on the tissue.

Was his nose bleeding?

He tried to jab himself with the pen several times but his hand was shaking. He took a deep breath, then aimed for the inside of his arm. It seemed to work. Sort of. Charles wasn’t really sure.

“It’s okay,” he said to Ms. Potts – or he might have projected. She stopped shouting into the phone anyway, looking shocked. Why was she sitting sideways to gravity? It was strange.

_It’ll – father said –_

“…oh my god, oh my god are you – Happy stop the car!”

“But we’re almost ther-“

“I don’t care! Just stop the car, oh my god he’s passed out. Oh my god. He just sedated himself! He’s only six!”

Happy stopped the car by parking it in the nearest gap of curb. It was in front of gaudy Starbucks, which looked as if it was already celebrating Christmas. He could see the patrons nearest the glass windows staring at the limo, several of them whipping out phones when they presumably noticed the name on the number plate. He sighed.

In the rear view mirror, Charles has indeed passed out. The robot dog was barking up a storm, and resisting all of Pepper’s attempts at turning him off by growling and snapping its’ teeth.

Trust Tony to give a robot pet actual teeth.

“Is this an epi pen?” Pepper was saying, turning something over frantically between her fingers, “He just – hello? Hello, Tony you still there?  No, we’re not there yet. No! He’s – no, I’m not bringing him to the tower, I’m taking him to a hospital!” she pulled away from the phone, “Happy, how long to the closest hospital?”

“You’re not taking him to a hospital Pep!” came Tony’s voice from the car’s speakers.

Pepper made a sound of exasperation and threw her phone back into her bag.

“It’ll be worse for him in a hospital. Crowds. Remember. And children ward would be worse. Screaming children. Bring him back ASAP. That’s an order, Happy.”

 “That is not an order!” protested Pepper, “Tony he’s sick, he needs a doctor. And before you say anything, you are _not_ a doctor.”

Tony’s face flickered into view on one of the screens. He had goggles perched atop his head, and was wearing black t-shirt covered in …sawdust? Pepper was five hundred percent over it and if she got back and realised Tony had wrecked yet another piece of antique furniture, she was going to _kill_ something.

 

“Pep, listen to me. He needs quiet. Okay? I’ll explain once you’re home. I gave him the top floor for a reason.”

“We can make it back to the tower in ten minutes,” Happy offered helpfully.

“You better explain _everything_ ,” said Pepper sternly at the screen, “Tony? _Everything.”_

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tony, “Just. Asap. Also I need to finish the floor.”

Pepper looked horrified.

“What do you mean, the floor?”

“Oops,” said Tony, “got to run! There’s uh, someone on the other line.”

“ _Tony Stark_ – !”

The screen went blank. Happy very deliberately kept quiet.

They were all interrupted by a tap on the window.

Happy lifted the electronic tinting and raised both his eyebrows. There was a girl in a Starbuck’s apron, tray of tall coffee cups balanced in one hand. Happy lowered the window.

“For Mister Stark?” said the girl, beaming at him. She looked far too happy and enthusiastic for someone who had to make complicated beverages to annoyed New Yorkers on a Saturday afternoon. Then again, Happy supposed she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Tony. Or an autograph. She was holding a rather large stack of napkins for someone serving coffee. Because Happy was a nice person, he said

“Thanks – “ he glanced at her name tag, “ – Laura. I’ll let Mister Stark know that – “

“I’ll take those,” said Pepper, reaching past Happy for the tray. She gave the girl a strained smile, “Have a nice day.” To Happy, she levelled a _look._

Happy pulled out from the curb and floored the accelerator.

 

:i:

 

_Stark Tower, New York City, seven minutes later._

 

Tony had just finished sanding down the edges of the floorboards and was about to set the rubber sealing for the jumbo beanbag he had ordered that morning when JARVIS interrupted his flow by muting the music. There was something very wrong when it was the AI muting things, and not you muting the AI.

“What,” said Tony, unimpressed.

“Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan have arrived, sir,” said JARVIS, “they are in the lobby with Master Xavier.”

Tony paused.

“Awake or unconscious?”

“Ms. Potts is very consciously irate. Mr. Hogan is apprehensive. Master Xavier seems to be the only party unconscious, sir.”

“Har Har,” said Tony, “Send them up, send them up.”

“Very well, sir. May I suggest you put away the industrial tools before the child arrives?”

“He’s unconscious!” said Tony, dropping the sander to the floor and going over to drag the bean bag into place. “Nothing will happen.”

The beanbag plopped into the designated hole in the floor like a well measured plan. Tony threw himself onto the beanbag several times in the interests of science. It was suitably bean-baggish, and very comfortable. There was a wide ring of sawdust and general debris lying in the previously spotless (and newly decorated) living area. Oh well, someone will vacuum that up later.

The lift in the foyer chimed softly as it slid open, revealing Pepper, Happy and one unconscious child, size Small. Happy was carrying him in his arms, a child’s backpack dangling from one elbow. Pepper was in heels. She meant business.

She brandished her data-pad at Tony, who was still sprawled on the beanbag.

“ _Mister Stark_ ,” she hissed, “Care to explain why you decided to drug a six year old? Do you know what just happened?”

Tony raised a finger in self-defence. He was trying not to stare at the small body in Happy’s arms.

“Uh, see, the sedative was meant to counter what ‘just happened.’”

Pepper didn’t look mollified in the least. If anything, her eyes got this dangerous glint that meant she was about to scold Tony so hard he was going to have to apologise or hide in his workshop like a man. She drew out a long pen from her pocket and thrust it (pointy end first) at Tony’s face.

“This! He was having a panic attack, I didn’t know what to do – and then he just jabbed himself with this and has been unconscious ever since.”

At this, Happy stepped forwards. After a moment of hesitation, he made as if to bend down and pass the sleeping Charles to Tony. Tony felt all the blood drain out of his face, and the nervous fog descend back over his head. He had managed to beat it back by remodelling the living room, but confronted with the very object of imminent parenthood….

“I don’t like being handed things!” he said quickly, scooting backwards on the beanbag, “Uh – “

“Do not even – “ said Pepper, warningly, “Was it the – the telepathy? He kept saying that it hurt and was too loud.”

Tony glanced from Pepper to Happy. He shrugged apologetically.

“It was kinda a need to know,” said Tony, “But I figured – “

“It’s okay boss,” said Happy, looking down at the sleeping boy in his arms, “A few things started to add up.”

Tony sighed, running a hand over his face. Then he realised there was glue on his fingers and now in his goatee. Great. Clambering off the beanbag, he got to his feet and dusted off his jeans.

“He should sleep it off,” said Tony, “Let’s…let’s put him to bed. Then I’ll,” he waved his hands, “explain what happened. What I think happened.  He wasn’t supposed to be conscious for it, I did think it would be too overwhelming but. Anyway.”

Unable to stop himself, he peered at Charles, face slack in sedated sleep.

“Give it here,” said Tony at last, feeling like he was calling upon every ounce of guts and daring he had. And Stark men had a lot of guts and daring. Except when confronted by babies, apparently.

“I can carry him, boss,” said Happy, dubiously.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Hey. Who’s the cool godfather in this room?”

Pepper snorted.

Then Tony had an armful of six year old. There was a moment of full blown panic again, because he could actually feel the beat of Charles’ heart against his chest, the warmth of another body that was a lot more substantial than the rabbit he had had as a pet in his own childhood. Oh god, the rabbit had died because Tony had been too busy building Dummy and forgot to refill lettuce bowl –

He thought six year olds weighed a bit more than this.

“I’ll fetch the suitcases,” said Happy, “And the dog.”

Charles’ breaths were little puffs of air on Tony’s neck. It made his skin feel unnaturally hot.

“Dog?” he asked, tilting his head.

“A robot one,” said Happy, “went nuts. Wouldn’t stay still enough for us to turn it off so – “

“Oh,” said Tony, and he would have snapped his fingers if he wasn’t scared of dropping Charles, “Max! Yeah. Just tell him Charles is waiting upstairs or something. He’ll be okay. Huh. He still has that old thing.”

“…right,” said Happy, still sounding dubious. But he turned and headed back towards the lift.

“I need a drink,” said Pepper. “We are going to have words.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tony, hoisting Charles more securely in his arms. “I’ll just…” he jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. Pepper’s eyes softened, and she nodded.

Tony had redesigned this particular level of the tower specifically for Charles. When he heard the news, he had brought in the contractors and worked them round the clock to get things finished, the furniture build and brought in, the balcony pool filled with water.

The door to Charles’ new bedroom swung open as they approached (“Thank you JARVIS,” – “Anytime, sir.”) the lights fading gently on to illuminate the room in a soft, yellow glow. It had floor to ceiling windows (reinforced) looking out onto the cityscape. There was a modern, circular bed near the wall, thick down duvet and matching pillows set out upon the mattress. Comfortable reading couches sat next to the bookshelves that was sunk into the wall, and there was a desk near the window. One side of the wardrobe slid back to reveal a large StarkTech tele-screen.

Tony set Charles awkwardly onto the bed. And it was only then that he realised the kid was missing his shoes. What the fuck was Tony supposed to do now?

He pulled Charles’ socks off instead and dropped them by the bed. Then he slid off the silly little jacket, unbuttoned the top few buttons on his stiff, starched shirt, and tucked him under the covers. He stared at the child in front of him for a good few minutes, before fluffing the pillows with his hands.

“Lights, ten percent,” he said. “And let me know when he’s about to wake up.”

There was a strange pull in the air, and emotional tug saying _staystaystaystaystay._ Tony swallowed, and pulled the duvet more securely around Charles’ chin.

“Certainly, sir,” said JARVIS.

 

:i:

 

Tony Stark’s history with robots began when he was seven and he wanted to impress his Father, as all little boys were wont to do. He built the first version of Dummy, won several science fairs and awards, got a three page spread in _Time Magazine_ as well as appeared on national television. Dummy could cook an entire meal for you, as well as distinguish between tones of voice.

Then he programmed Dummy tell jokes, but he mustn’t have done it very well because Howard Stark only said, “It sounds a bit off, son.”

Dummy taught Tony that people wanted functionality in robots.

They didn’t want friends.

 

 

:i:

_Stark Tower, New York City, the next morning._

 

Minds were, when it came down to it, emotions and sparking electricity. The loud things were usually linear, thoughts that immediately preceded actions or words, conscious inner dialogues, and sometimes absent drifting things. Sometimes, a mind would be more colours than words; more pictures than carefully structured metaphors. Most times, there would be shadows of the emotions beneath, foggy and water-coloured unless Charles took effort to delve deeper and sort them out, strand by strand like braiding lace.

Charles’ abilities had manifested at birth. His father speculated that Charles had possessed it even before then, though there hadn’t been any way to make sure – only his mother’s anecdotes and regrets. Even so, his parents’ minds were always a constant murmur at the back of his mind, comforting if he didn’t delve to much into it (and sometimes this took more effort).

It was like living by the sea your whole life – only noticing the absence of the waves when you moved away.

Charles woke slowly to silence. His sleepy mind, discomforted by the quiet, threw itself out in a reflexive reach for the company of another. It passed the quiet bubble thoughts of fish somewhere close by, then seemed to hone in on some faintly familiar presence –

-        _you don’t say. Yes, thanks Jarvis, I realise…_ (flash of surprise and warm awareness) _hey. Hey! Kiddo! Charles_. _Is that you? This is kinda cool actually, basically our private, unhackable intercom, you know I really should –_

Alarmed, Charles jerked his mind back so fast he sat bolt up right, heart hammering. Oh no, he must have – _not careful enough_ – not supposed to intrude on other people’s privacy because it was invasive and _feardisguststayoutofmyhead._ There was a static rush in his ears that seemed to block out everything else, and for once Charles was thankful because it probably meant he wasn’t accidentally touching Uncle Tony’s thoughts.

“…Master Xavier?” came a disembodied voice somewhere behind him.

For the second time in as many moments, Charles felt his heart jump into his throat. He hadn’t felt the presence of anyone other than Tony and the fish – who?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you,” said the voice again.

“You’re not a person,” said Charles, carefully looking around the room he was in, “…Or you’re very far away.”

“Correct on both counts, sir,” said the voice, “I am JARVIS, an Artificial Intelligence in charge of running Mister Stark’s household and various…mobile devices.”

“Oh,” said Charles, curiosity making him more awake, “Where do you live then?”

“That’s classified information, I’m afraid,” said the voice, and perhaps it was Charles’ imagination, but it sounded amused.

“Oh,” Charles repeated, “That’s okay. Nice to meet you JARVIS. I’m Charles.”

It felt strange that JARVIS had no hand for him to shake, nor a mind for him to sense. He was there, yet not there.

The room was nothing like his own back home. Instead of the classic hardwood and English upholstery, the room had a curving wall mostly set with floor to ceiling glass. The walls were a smooth white, the carpet a rich red. His bed was most peculiar – completely circular so that Charles could sprawl in any direction he wanted and not come across any corners. He spotted his backpack sitting in a high-backed swivel chair near the window, and his shoes when he peaked over the side of the bed. His suitcases were nowhere to be seen. And neither was Max.

Had he been left on the car? Where was Happy and Ms. Potts?

Then he felt Mister Stark close by – just beyond the fish! – and Charles only just had time to throw up more walls around his mind (not wooden this time, steel like the sides of skyscrapers he’d only seen from a distance) before there was a loud knock.

_Charles! Charlescharlescharles, you awake?_

“Um,” said Charles, looking up at the ceiling where he imagined JARVIS to be, then back his door again. “Come in?”

Mister Stark burst into the room, the door banging back against the wall and making Charles jump. And then he was right by Charles’ bed, looking down at him and emanating worry so loudly that Charles’ mental walls crumpled under the feeling of it, making his eyes prickle in the corners.

“You disappeared for a bit back there,” said Mister Stark, “Did I think weirdly or something? Mess up the transmission? Bungled telepathic etiquette? In my defence, I don’t think there are enough telepaths in the world to establish etiquette. Unless Brian has been holding out on – was holding out on me.”

Charles’ eyes were wide with confusion. And also the effort not to start crying because ( _Mister Stark doesn’t care that Charles was in his head)_ that would be twice in as many days and ‘thoroughly embarrassing’. Mother would be embarrassed on his behalf.

“Sorry,” Charles blurted out, _I didn’t mean to I reallydidn’tmeanto –_

Mister Stark waved a hand casually. Close up, he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink all night – there were greasy stains on the t-shirt he was wearing, and dark smudges under his eyes. His mind was practically vibrating with nerves, everything sped up twice as fast.

 _Don’t worry,_ he thought at Charles, and there was a particularly guilty tinge to his emotions for some reason, _never worry about using_ (taps temple) _It’s a fucking – uh, I mean okay who can censor their thoughts anyway sorry you’ll just gonna have to…I mean I’m sure you’ve heard much worse – awesome way to communicate and you should practice. Or something. If you feel like it –_

“…I’m never going to push you into either thing if you don’t want to. Yeah?”

Charles could only nod.

 _Because I’m not your dad and god knows I would fuck that up too and_  “But I don’t want you to feel as if you can’t use your telepathy around me, okay?” _This_ (Stark Tower, the apartment, more) _is your home and you shouldn’t feel as if you’re doing something wrong for just being born with something so_ (miracle, unique, I wonder if we conduct some more finely tuned tests Brian never really did – )

“And stop calling me Mister Stark,” said Mister Stark, “I can hear it when you’re…” he made a gesture with his fingers, “…projecting. Call me Tony instead. Or Uncle Tony. Yeah, I’m definitely a cool uncle.”

“Okay,” said Charles.

Then, because Uncle Tony was distracted – Charles sat up straighter in his bed.

“You fixed Max?!” he exclaimed.

Tony looked caught out for a second.

“Damn. It was meant to be a surprise.” Tony shrugged, then whistled shrilly. There was the sound of something small scrabbling across wood and then Max bounded into view, all four legs working, tongue hanging out in robotic doggy joy. Charles scrambled down from the bed to pick him up with both hands, laughing.

 _You made him better!_ Thought Charles, beaming up at Tony (Max was still licking at his face), “Thanks!” _Thankyouthankyou! Eee!_

Tony shrugged again, but his face had gone pink and his thoughts had turned warm; tentative despite the volume of his surface thoughts that he directed at Charles as if Charles was listening all the time like an open radio. Beneath it all were a little bit of pride at Charles’ obvious pleasure and a whole lot of guilt about _beingafatherfucknotreadyforthis_ ; feelings all twisted into something sour and very sad.

Putting Max momentarily on the duvet, Charles gave Tony the tightest hug he could, because Tony never got hugs very often. Charles frowned, not knowing how he knew that particular fact, but it was there, at the edge of Tony’s thoughts as he hugged Charles’ back with an awkward pat on the shoulder.

“Requested alert for checklist item number 3, ‘ _Feed Child’_ ,” said JARVIS politely. Charles twitched again, still not used to the mindless, bodiless voice (they never had an AI back home because mother preferred human help).

 

Tony cleared his throat and pulled away.

“Dummy has set out fruit salad and a selection of oatmeal for you, Master Xavier – I hope you find something to your liking,” JARVIS continued.

“Um,” said Charles, looking at the ceiling again, “…Thank you?”

“I also took the liberty of preparing an extra portion for you, sir, seeing as you have not eaten for twelve and a half hours.”

“Does my ‘portion’,” Tony made air quotes with his fingers, “Have coffee in it?”

“No sir, you specified a healthy breakfast.”

“For the kid!” protested Tony, gesturing at Charles indignantly, and then back at himself. “I fuc- er, really hate oatmeal. It tastes like shit!”

“You can have my fruit,” Charles offered.

 _You’re not even kidding, are you?_ Thought Tony, shooting Charles an exaggerated squint. But he wasn’t really irritated. Tony was relieved that Charles seemed to be okay with JARVIS. He was relieved that Charles wasn’t like an _actual_ baby because Tony didn’t have a good track record with infants, even though he had never actually touched one before ( _and please let it stay that way Jesus Christ Stark Tower is only for the potty trained_ ).

Mostly, Tony felt relieved that he didn’t have to deal with a six year old bawling about wanting to see their dead parents. He also felt guilty about this, but couldn’t hide it, not really, not when it was such a conscious thought. Not when Charles knew so intimately what guilt felt like – the embrace of a mother who said _sorry baby, I’m so sorry_.

“Okay, none of that now,” said Tony, “Come on, food time.”

Max wiggled to the floor and ran to the door, barking. Tony straightened, and made as if to follow.

Charles held both his arms up, breath caught in his throat: testing the waters.

There was a moment where something flickered across Tony’s face, too fast, a fleeting ache near the ribs – alarm and bewilderment. Then to Charles’ great delight, Tony bent down, hooked his hands beneath Charles’ armpits and hoisted him up until he had one arm beneath Charles’ bottom and the other around his back. Charles wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck. He smelt like one of Fathers’ cars, and his beard was prickly on Charles’ skin.

“Okay…” said Tony under his breath, and the word rumbled in his chest. _Okay. Okay. Got a kid. Don’t drop. No dropping. Fuck._

“No dropping,” agreed Charles as they followed an impatient Max out the door.

 

The world outside Charles’ new room was very different to home. The only similarity was the hardwood floor, but even that was different, cut in a curving sweep around a carpeted area. Charles loved being carried – everything was a lot more interesting from higher up, when his view wasn’t blocked by knees and chairs (the distraction was a nice too).

“You’ve got the whole floor to yourself,” Tony was saying, spinning around so Charles could get a three-sixty degree view. He spun so fast that Charles actually felt a bit queasy, and squeezed his eyes shut. Tony didn’t seem to notice, taking them both to the window. Charles twisted around so he could see.

“I mean,” Tony said, “Thought you’d like a bit of space to yourself, y’know? I’m on the floor above if you need anything. Actually, just ask JARVIS if you need anything. Right JARVIS?”

“I’ll certainly try my best, sir.”

Charles wondered why JARVIS had an English accent. He tried not to peek.

The whole place looked out onto a balcony through floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond which lay a glittering swimming pool reaching right to the edge of the balcony – and the cityscape beyond. The sun was already quite high, throwing glittering water patterns onto the glass and the wooden floorboards.

Charles didn’t think he’d ever been on a building this high up before – it made all the other buildings look like stacked toys. He wanted to stay and stare for a bit longer, but Tony was already bored and crossing back across the room towards a polished countertop and a small kitchenette.

But Charles spotted something more interesting.

_Is that a bed?_

“What?” said Tony, turning – “Ah. Beanbag. Haven’t quite finished setting that – but feel free to jump on it or whatever. I thought the room looked a bit plain and kids like beanbags, right? I don’t suppose it was part of the décor at your place. Changed it up a bit.”

_Looks squishy._

Tony laughed, short and sharp.

“Yeah, pretty awesome. You can get JARVIS to program the beads and everything – show you after. Have to feed you first.”

They had arrived at the table, Max panting at Tony’s feet. There were comfortable high stools (but not too high) with cushioned backs that spun round and round. Tony unhooked Charles’ hands and set him down on a chair, taking the seat next to him. It was then that Charles noticed there was a strange thing on the other side of the island. It had one long arm, a pincer like head and was… _looking_ at them. He had never seen a robot like this before.

“Um,” he said, pointing.

“…oh, toast! This is fake butter. Where’s the real butter, JARVIS?”

“To your left, sir.”

The robot moved forwards, towards Charles.

 _?????_ Charles sent out.

Tony paused, butter in one hand.

“Oh. That’s Dummy. I’ll introduce you to everyone later, but Dummy – say hi.”

The robot – Dummy (Charles thought it wasn’t a very nice name) – waved its mechanical arm/head from side to side, then reached across the table to nudge the plate of toast towards Charles. Charles leant across the marble tabletop and patted Dummy’s arm-head, which made Dummy whirr loudly.

 

They ate in relative silence, Tony buttering Charles’ pieces of toast for him, and Charles didn’t want to seem rude and tell him that he had mastered the art of buttering toast for ages now. He ate them dutifully instead, and then had orange segments, then a glass of milk.

Then Dummy dropped a tub of ice-cream in front of them with a triumphant _thwack._ Tony stared for a moment, hands frozen over his plate of crusts (he had been systematically pulling them off his toast as he ate, with vague memories of hating dry crusts at the edge of his consciousness. Mother always made Charles eat all his crusts and told him that he would go bald if he didn’t.

“A- _HA_!” exclaimed Tony, so loudly that Charles nearly fell right out of his chair in fright, “Dummy likes you. He’s bringing you dessert for breakfast. That’s gold. JARVIS?”

“Apologies sir,” said JARVIS blithely, “there must be a glitch.”

Tony snorted into his coffee, which had magicked up from somewhere.

Dummy peeled back the plastic lid of the ice-cream, revealing a brand new, untouched surface. The sight of it made Charles’ mouth water, even though he had just finished three pieces of toast. Charles always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and both he and his Father had a secret stash of chocolates in Father’s study that they would sneak after dinner. It was probably still there, sitting in its jar on the bottom drawer, thought Charles.

“I feel obliged to remind you, sir, that ice-cream does not fall into the category of a nutritional breakfast, for a child or otherwise,” said JARVIS.

Perhaps JARVIS was secretly Tony’s mother. Charles hadn’t known either of them for very long, but it would explain a lot. The thoughts from Tony’s mind were suggesting that he wasn’t above bribing Charles with an ice-cream breakfast if Charles pouted and batted his eyelashes.

“It’s okay,” said Charles, taking the paper napkin that Dummy passed him and wiping his hands, “I’m full.”

“Oh,” said Tony, disappointed. He waved a hand at the robot. “No one wants your ice-cream, put it back in the freezer.”

Dummy drooped, but obediently picked up the ice-cream tub and took it back to the tall fridge standing in the corner of the kitchen. Its door swung open to accept the cargo. Charles wondered if the dishes would all float to the sink by themselves. He glanced at Tony, who was pouring himself a second mug of coffee.

Charles stacked their plates together and carefully climbed down from his chair (which wasn’t as high as the ones at home, and didn’t even wobble) before taking the cutlery to the sink. Max gave a happy bark and scrambled to follow, robotic paws skittering on the tiles. The sight of him, able to run again, sent another happy thrill through Charles’s heart. He was just reaching to turn on the tap when –

“Oh don’t do that,” said Tony, a tendril of guilt wafting over Charles’ head like an afterthought, “Dummy can wash those.”

Dummy whirred over, arm raised in a question mark. Max turned to bark at the robot instead, ears cocked forwards. Charles looked uncertainly from dummy to the sink, then back to Tony; unsure. He got a few loud pictures: a huge room with floating holograms, building imaginary things with Lego blocks of blue light. Distractions.

“Seriously,” said Tony, getting up, coffee in hand, “Wanna see the workshop?”

Charles nodded, and both he, Max and Dummy trailed after Tony and out of the kitchen.

 

:i:

 

_The Xavier Estate, Westchester County, three days later._

 

The funeral for Brian and Sharon Xavier was held on a sunny Thursday afternoon in the family cemetery. The trees were bared in preparation for December, the grass a pale yellow and slightly crunchy underfoot. But all in all, it was a lovely day by any objective scales of measurement.

Tony Stark hated funerals.

He decided he hated Thursdays too – especially the obnoxiously cheerful kind of Thursday.

When his parents had died, Tony hadn’t been anywhere as cooperative as Charles had been. He had refused to get out of bed the morning of the funeral, locking his door from the inside. Obie had his door broken down and personally dragged him to the waiting car outside while Tony threatened to sue them all to kingdom come.

The weather had been disgustingly cheerful then too.

Beside him, Charles sneezed quietly. He was still holding Tony’s right hand, face pinched and pale in the sunlight. He was a remarkably quiet and solemn child – Tony couldn’t remember himself ever being so still when he was six years old. Now, in the last minutes of the service, he was as still as the cherub statue behind the Chaplain.

Tony squeezed the smaller hand in his own, and tried to think of comforting things like doughnuts and sugar and hypothetical hugs that didn’t give you goose-bumps.

 _I’m okay,_ thought Charles, looking up at him.

 _Yeah,_ thought Tony, _yeah okay. You sure?_

 _No._ Charles was biting his lower lip, eyes fixed at the lectern in front of the two coffins. _I don’t want to read the last bit._

 _You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,_ thought Tony, _Just shake your head at the pope_

_\- Chaplain!_

_\- at the pope, and he’ll understand._

Charles rubbed his eye with the sleeve of his free hand. He wasn’t dressed in a bow-tie (Tony had put his foot down) but he was wearing a smart suit jacket (at Pepper’s insistence) over a comfortable white t-shirt (Tony’s compromise). Dummy had shined the leather of his shoes until they blinded.

Max sat quietly in the grass next to their feet. Charles probably thought the dog was well behaved – but Tony had secretly muted it just before the service started.

“…and now,” the Chaplain was saying, “Master Xavier will close with…”

Immediately, there was a spike of panic from Tony’s right and he turned just in time to see Charles’ eyes well up with tears. Pepper, sitting on Charles’ other side, had one hand on his shoulder, looking worried and pulling out a tissue from nowhere. The tears overspilled. Oh. Oh crap. He snapped back to the Chaplain and made _abort! abort!_ Gestures by glaring and slicing his free hand across his throat.

“…I beg your pardon,” said the Chaplain smoothly, not even blinking, “Mister Stark will be closing this service.”

“What,” said Tony.

“ _What?”_ hissed Pepper.

 _SorrysorrysorryI’msorry_ Charles hiccupped, thoughts awhirl with dread and grief. He was still clutching Tony’s hand like a lifeline. Pepper was now looking at Tony as if it was somehow his fault that Charles was crying, and the Chaplain was looking at Tony expectantly and Tony _really hated funerals._ He also hated awkward silences and goddamit. There will be music and drunk people at his funeral, even if Tony himself had to pay for the drunk people.

“Mr. Stark?” the Chaplain prompted, like the spawn of Satan that he is, clerical collar be damned.

 _I’ll be quick,_ thought Tony.

 _I can say it,_ thought Charles, trying to wipe his tears away, but he was sniffling and hiccupping and Tony’s chest felt like it was going to cave in.

 _It’s okay,_ thought Tony, running his thumb over the back of Charles’ hand, _I’m great at speeches. Really. I make them all the time. And fuck, if people don’t like it then they can –_

“Tony!” hissed Pepper, and Tony realised too late that he had said the last bit out loud. Oops. In his defence, telepathic communication got some getting used to.

“Right, right,” he said, standing up and reluctantly pulling his hand from Charles’ grip. He straightened his tie and made his way up to the lectern.

It was a small service – a private affair lined up in delicate garden chairs and a silk cover to shield them from the sunlight. There were distant relatives that Tony had never met before today, a few of Brian’s work colleagues and a few ladies dressed in expensive looking black dresses that were no doubt Sharon Xavier’s tea-drinking buddies or something. There was also a smartly suited Agent Coulson in the back corner, but Tony was pretending not to notice him.

“Uh,” said Tony. Pepper looked like she was going to keel over from stress. Her eyes were wide open, as if she was trying to send Tony a telepathic message –

 _she wants you not to say any curse words,_ thought Charles in between the hiccupping.

 _Fuck,_ thought Tony.

“Brian was a brilliant…”

Tony paused. That had been said twice already.

“You know, there was this time when – “

Pepper’s eyes grew even wider, and even the Chaplain looked a bit nervous.

Tony decided: _screw everyone._

“When my parents died, they tried to get me to close the service too,” he said, words tumbling out too fast. “I said some stuff about mom being beautiful and dad being an inspiration. But who makes a kid say a speech while staring down their parent’s coffins?”

Charles let out a muffled sob, face buried in Pepper’s shoulder. _Shitshitshit,_ thought Tony. There were few whispers from the audience. Pepper was patting Charles’ back, panic written all over her face.

“There’s nothing I or any of you can say that makes this – “ Tony gestures at the coffins, side by side, “Alright. I’m not going to try. No one here has lost more than Charles. No one. Not you,” he looked at the relatives, “Who are probably pissed that you didn’t get a bigger slice of Brian’s leftovers. Not you,” he looked at the ladies, “Who probably never saw Sharon outside of the parlour. Yeah?”

They were staring at him, affronted, offended, surprised. Tony didn’t give a shit. He could hear the whispers through Charles all morning, the pity, the indifference; Charles’ who was only six and whose control had been slipping as he struggled to put on a stiff upper lip _and Tony was so sick of it._

He ploughed on.

“Brian. He was a brilliant man. Sharon… was one of the most elegant women that ever walked down two flights of stairs in seven-inch stilettos. I don’t know whether they’d ever planned for this. I don’t know if Brian was ever going to finish that book he was writing. I don’t know whether I’d be here if I wasn’t Charlie’s godfather.

But what I do know – ”

He looked straight at Charles, the smallest figure in the audience. He himself had sat in the front row, Obie by his side, cameraman lining the aisles. His throat was dry, but he managed the last couple of words.

“ – What I do know is they’d be so proud of you.”

 

 Charles burst into fresh tears.

:i:

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up: Tony confronts fatherhood, copious amounts of alcohol is consumed, Charles tries to save the day, and it's the first Christmas for our baby Xavier-Stark household. Also, David is born.


	3. Arc 1, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles tries to settle in while Tony oscillates between parenting by the book and enthusiastic denial. There is bot!bonding, an Incident with Christine Everhart, a visit from Rhodey, Christmas and a conversation with Uncle Obie.  
> (In which we find that Tony had an unexpected friend as a child. And as it is with so many unexpected finds, there is inevitably an unexpected loss.)

  
:i:

 

 _“That anyone could father a child,_  
 _but a real man chooses to be a dad.”_  
– J. Sterling

 

:i:

 

The media said a lot of things about Tony.

And the thing was, most of it was true. When he was a child, the articles oscillated between a ‘child genius’ (whenever he did something particularly clever in the eyes of the Adults) and a ‘spoilt brat’ (whenever he did something spectacular). Things hadn’t changed that much over the years.

One thing the media did not say was that Tony was a lonely child. Too much money and too much cleverness did not make you a lot of friends – not the kind that mattered anyway. And that’s why Tony was not-so-secretly ecstatic when he found out that the new family butler, Jarvis, was bringing a son with him. And because Tony was an impatient and curious child (armed with his father’s username and password) he downloaded everything he could find on the Jarvises before they arrived. To his great delight, David Jarvis was about the same age as Tony was (eight years, three months and twenty eight days), a bit taller (boo) and most importantly, a registered mutant. The file said:  _magnokinetic_.

Tony thought about all the amazing kinds of robots and machines they could make together and promptly shut himself in his room to draw up the plans, vowing not to stop until David arrived (or dinner time).

When David did arrive, he looked far less excited about the entire affair. Maria Stark told Tony to show David to his room, and then she and Jarvis left to discuss boring grown-up things which Tony suspected had too much to do with how many vegetables he had to eat and far less to do with how many new parts he was allowed to order for the new computer he was building. So he obediently took David to his new room, pointing out all the cool things like the indoor swimming pool on the first floor and glass balconies on the second. David didn’t say a single word the whole way. His mouth was pulled into a flat thin line, and he seemed way too solemn for any kind of eight year old – even if they were the British kind.

“German, actually,” said David. He sounded polite – but his eyes hard.

Tony shrugged, thoroughly unabashed in the way that all Stark men (and little boys) were.

“Oops,” he said, and opened the door to David’s new room. “Ta da!”

It wasn’t as big as Tony’s room but it was still a nice room – with a giant telescreen installed in the wall and a mini-fridge containing all kinds of snacks. The window looked out onto the back garden, and there was a desk facing the sun. It was a metal desk – Tony had insisted. In fact, most of the things in the room was metallic. David took this all in with determined En – German seriousness. Tony sighed.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Thank you,” said David, stiffly.

“Nooo,” said Tony, flapping a hand at the room in general, “Well as in  _well,_ are you gonna show me?”

David’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“What?”

“I dunno,” said Tony, wiggling his fingers in an exaggerated motion of someone hypothetically exercising their magnokinesis, “Lift the desk. Or something. I made sure everything was made of metal so you can – “

But all the blood had drained out of David’s face and suddenly Tony was flat against the wall and David had one arm against his neck  _Jesus_ was David a ninja? If so, Father’s file was lacking. Lacking in important things like how the new Butler’s son was a freaking  _ninja._ A magnetic ninja. A  _German_ magnetic nin –

“Who told you?” asked the magnetic ninja, eyes wide with panic, “How do you know?”

“I just looked you up on the computer!” said Tony, a bit worried for his own safety when he realised that he had been lifted off the ground and stuck to the wall by the metal in his shoes, buttons and zipper. The bed and desk were vibrating, and so was David, grey-green eyes bright with anger. No, Tony corrected himself, with anger management issues. The eyes were definitely alight with issues – it must be in the beer that all Germans drank instead of milk. Or something.

“Calm the fuck down!” said Tony.

The swear word seemed do the trick because Tony returned to the floor with a  _thump_. David narrowed his eyes at him.

“Which computer?” he asked.

“Uh,” said Tony, “A secret one. Emphasis on secret. As in your secret is safe with me.”

David stared at him. It was an uncanny stare for an eight year old – there was no blinking involved and it succeeded in creeping Tony out completely. He let out a relieved sigh when David finally,  _finally,_ blinked.

“If you tell anyone,” he said, smiling with all his teeth, “I’ll kill you with your own pen.”

“Uh,” said Tony.

There was a long, long pause.

The two boys eyed each other.

More pauses.

“Can you actually do that?” asked Tony, when the anger management issues had mostly dimmed out of David’s eyes, “Because that’s kinda cool.”

David frowned, and looked down at his hands.

“Are you a mutant too?” he asked at long last.

“Nah,” said Tony, “I wish!”

David was staring at him again. Tony was getting bored of all the standing and waiting and  _silence_. There was a real life magnetic ninja standing in his house and they hadn’t even got to levitating the furniture yet. Maybe David was shy or had performance issues.

“Hey,” said Tony, “Wanna see this robot I made? He’s called Dummy. He was in Times Magazine.”

David was still staring at him.

“Or whatever,” huffed Tony, grumpily.

“No,” said David hastily, “I would like to see your robot.”

“Good!” said Tony, grabbing David by the hand and tugging him back down the hall and towards the stairs, “This way!”

 

By the time they were called down to dinner, Dummy had gained the ability to fly, Tony’s workshop had gained an entire shelf of broken glass, and Tony had gained a friend.

 

:i:

 

an extract from  _newsfeed.time.com/2025/10/28/stark-industries-to-merge-with-xavier-laboratories_

STARK INDUSTRIES TO MERGE WITH XAVIER LABORATORIES?

 

 

> _“…defence mogul Tony Stark stepped in as acting CEO of Xavier Laboratories, having assumed legal guardianship over Charles Xavier, six year old heir to his late parents’ $6 billion bio-tech empire. Stark Industries has had a well-established working partnership with Xavier Laboratories, as Tony Stark was a close friend and confidant to the late Brian Xavier._
> 
> _Neither company has indicated whether this means that a merger is imminent. CFO Kurt Marko has confirmed that he will still be overseeing existing projects. However, future lines and products will be under the direction of the new acting CEO. If Stark-Xavier were to become a newly merged venture, it is calculated that Stark Industries could own up to 72% as the majority shareholder. This may see Xavier Laboratories expanding beyond the field of medicine within which Brian Xavier had focused the company._
> 
> _Until Charles Xavier turns 21, Brian Xavier has appointed Tony Stark as acting CEO of Xavier Laboratories – and Stark Industries will effectively add the Xaviers’ considerable bio-tech advances to their military defence arsenal. In addition, Stark becomes legal trustee of Charles, whose net-worth is now estimated to be approximately $3.5 billion – making him the richest child in the Northern Hemisphere.”_

:i:

_Stark Tower, New York City. One week after the funeral._

There were in fact, thousands of books and articles about raising children. Almost as many as books about raising cats. And like cats, everyone had an opinion on how to do it: what food to give them at certain ages, what music to play them (ACDC was not on the list), how to talk to them, how to bond with them, when to give hugs and the exact type, degree and intensity of said hug to execute.

It made Tony wonder how people fucked it up so badly, if there were all these manuals and anecdotes to follow. There was even a  _‘Raising Kids For Dummies’_  series, which Tony resolutely did  _not_ read because he was a lot of things but an idiot was not one of them (he gave the book to Dummy instead and ordered him to catalogue all the information from ‘need to know’ to ‘optional’.)

The problem was, Charles didn’t really fit into the prescribed characteristics of a child at six who had just lost both his parents and had been moved out of his home to live with someone he had only met once a year prior. Someone who gave him an awesome robotic dog, true, but still.

According to Jarvis and the internet at large, Tony was meant to be dealing with a distraught and confused child, who may be angry, sad, despondent, displaying out of character behaviour(s) or all of the above. Charles hadn’t even asked after his parents. Not once. He neither threw tantrums nor destroyed furniture. It was driving Tony up the wall.

“What am I doing wrong?” he asked for the eighth time in as many minutes, pacing up and down in front of the balcony. Pepper was sipping a glass of red wine on the couch, watching him wear a dent into the floor.  “Maybe he doesn’t feel like he can confide in me. Has he said anything about this? Kids need someone they can confide in. Someone they trust.”

Tony snapped his fingers, pointing at Pepper who looked alarmed.

“That’s it! He doesn’t trust me because I have facial hair.”

“What,” said Pepper.

Tony paused.

“Okay no. Santa has an ugly ass beard and kids seem to trust him a lot. Evidence – contradicts hypothesis. Next: he doesn’t trust me because I don’t have breasts.”

It was a testament to how well Pepper knew Tony that she merely raised an eyebrow at this remark.

“What?” said Tony, “Kids trust women more right? Statistically, more women are good with kids than men.”

“Actually sir,” interrupted JARVIS, “Depending on how you define – ”

“Mute,” said Tony, “No one asked you. You’re a computer. Computers don’t have kids. Ergo, computers know nothing of trust issues between spawn and their makers.”

“I sometimes wonder,” said Pepper, examining her wine, “If you were dropped on your head as a child. Was he, JARVIS?”

“Almost certainly, Miss Potts,” said JARVIS, because he was defective and could clearly not follow simple instructions like  _staying mute._

“Objection, your honour,” said Tony, finger raised, “How is this relevant?”

“Well,” said JARVIS, displaying an alarming defective streak –

“As I was saying,” interrupted Tony loudly, “Pepper. I think you should hang around a bit more. Charles isn’t really following the steps.”

“What steps?” asked Pepper, in a tone that suggested she didn’t really want Tony to explain because whatever the explanation was, it would be more insane than the what she was hearing right now. Tony ignored that tone. It was the same tone Obie used when Tony was telling him about something he was going to create because it was a Good Idea and 99% of the time Tony was right. He felt this data could be extrapolated to cover the situation at hand.

“You know,” he said, waving his hand, “Stages of grief. Child psychology. Stuff. I’m afraid that he doesn’t feel like he can confide in me and he’s going to bottle it all up until one day he can’t take it anymore and breaks into a psychotic episode leaving half of New York as drooling vegetables. Because you know he probably could do that, right?”

“Um,” said Pepper.

“A picnic,” said Tony.

“A picnic,” repeated Pepper.

“You could bond with Charles in a calming environment,” Tony explained, when Pepper still looked confused. A pause. “Nature is calming,” Tony elaborated.

 “No,” said Pepper, putting down her glass.

Tony stopped pacing.

“Scientifically speaking,” he said, “Trees – okay, plants in general, have been proven to – “

“Tony, we’re not going to have an argument about the calming effects of – of trees,” said Pepper, sounding exasperated, “I’m just…are you seriously asking me to babysit your godson?”

“Think of it more like therapeutic mothering,” said Tony.

Pepper’s eyes widened, expression cycling rapidly through a myriad of emotions: surprise, shock, incredulity. It settled on anger.

“ _Mothering – “_ Pepper started, sitting up straight.

“Okay,” said Tony, raising both hands and backpedalling as fast as he could, “bad choice of words but – ”

“Tony I’m your P.A., I practically  _run your company for you –_ “

Oh dear, clearly not fast enough.

“Look, you know what I mean – “

“ – and let’s not forget all the times I’ve had to bail you out or make sure you didn’t drown in your own vomit because you decided that drinking all your father’s whiskey was a good way to celebrate getting a new car!”

“In my defence that was my unbirthday – ”

“ – but I draw the line…I  _draw the line_ at helping you avoid the child that his parents left in  _your_ responsibility, just so you can…you can freak out at his expense! He’s a six year old boy who can read minds. Have you considered he’s not talking because he can hear exactly what you’re not saying in front of him?”

Tony’s mouth opened. Then shut.

He felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over his head.

“Maybe you should ask yourself what you’re _thinking_  that’s got him so clammed up,” said Pepper.

“Do you have a problem with his mutation?” Tony said, and it came out more sharply than he intended it to.

Two spots of colour appeared on Pepper’s cheeks. She stood up.

“Don’t make this about me – “

“Is that why you don’t want to spend time with him?” asked Tony, fists clenched. “Do you find it – “

Pepper held up one hand.

“Stop. Before you say something you regret.”

There was a long pause. Then Pepper set her half-finished glass of wine down on the coffee table and started looking for her shoes. Tony felt a flare of something hot and aching, somewhere inside his ribs.

“What are you doing?”

The shoes were half under the couch. Pepper slipped the on and then started looking for her handbag. It was on the table next to the lift, but Tony wasn’t going to say anything.

“Giving you some space to grow up,” said Pepper.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony demanded.

Pepper was half way to the hall by now but she whirled around – remarkably steady in her heels despite the three glasses of vintage red she had consumed in the last half hour. She threw up both her hands in a gesture of profound exasperation.

“Well,  _I don’t know_ ,” she said, “Maybe if you started taking this whole thing a bit more seriously, then you’d figure it – ”

“Waitwaitwait,” said Tony, cocking his head, “At what point have I done anything to suggest to  _you_  – “ he pointed at Pepper, “that  _I’m_  – “ he pointed at himself, “Not taking this seriously? Really Pepper? I’m taking this really fucking seriously! Didn’t remodelling that entire floor not sufficiently demonstrate my seriousness-ness?”

“Sir –”

“I had contractors in to replace the floorboards to a kind that isn’t going to – “

“ – taking ridiculous risks, not telling anyone about the extent of his telepathy – “

“Oh, so it  _is_ about the telepathy, I thought you said you were – “

“Will you just listen to yourself? I can’t believe – “

“ _Sir_  – ”

“This isn’t like – Tony,  _throwing money at a child isn’t going to make things better_!”

There was a deafening silence.

Tony felt like someone was crushing his intestines to ice, making him feel cold all over. Something must have shown on his face, because Pepper’s expression crumpled, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had come, softening the line of her mouth. But Tony was well acquainted with  _that_ particular look – it was pity. And fucked if he was going to listen to that right now. He cleared his throat to steady the ache, raising one eyebrow.

“Wow, Pepper,” he said, and was glad when his voice didn’t come out as hoarse as he felt, “Why don’t you tell me what you really think?”

“Tony – “

“No seriously,” he continued, “I get it. Me: not fit for fatherhood. You: not interested in kids.”

Another pause.

“I’m going to let you calm down,” said Pepper at last. She took a deep breath, “and I’ll be by tomorrow to drop off the papers from legal for the Spectographs.”

Then she turned on her heels and crossed the room. The lift doors opened and shut for her. And then she was gone, leaving the penthouse as quiet as it had ever been. It was a full minute before Tony realised that Pepper’s bag was still sitting on the table.

“Sir – “

“For godsake, JARVIS,  _what?”_

“Master Xavier is asking for you.”

Tony rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“What does he want? Is everything okay?”

“Everything seems to be fine, sir. But he is asking for you.”

“Right,” said Tony, “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

 

Charles was waiting for Tony when he emerged from the lift. He was wearing the Captain America hoodie Tony had gotten him to replace his boring old-man wardrobe: it was navy blue, with a big print of the red-white shield in the middle of the chest. Charles was also wearing the matching pyjama bottoms, his bare feet sticking out of the end. Next to them, Max seemed to be snoring, half way through sleep mode as-per-programming. Charles himself looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes open, half curled up in the dent he had made in the beanbag.

Tony glanced at the clock display illuminating the glass windows. It read three in the morning.

“Hey Charlie,” he said, crossing the room slowly and attempting a smile that probably didn’t quite make it, “What’re you doing up so late?”

“Couln’ sleep,” Charles said, words slurred in the way little kids got when trying to stay up late for their favourite movie. Probably. Lack of primary data.

“Nightmares,” said Charles.

The kid had probably been woken up by all the angry vibes echoing telepathically through his ceiling or something. Perhaps it was time that Stark Industries looked into telepathy-proofing materials.

Tony dropped down to sit beside Charles on the beanbag. The resulting dip made Charles slide sideways to stop neatly under Tony’s arm. The contact was a comfort, somehow – and Tony hoped that comfort went two ways. He rubbed a hand tentatively up and down Charles’ hoodied-arm, in a gesture he remembered his mother doing whenever he was upset.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Charles shook his head against Tony’s shoulder.

“Okay,” said Tony.

Max continued to snore, a randomised bot-dog snore. The light from the pool reflected the water onto the glass and floorboards, and they watched it for a while, shimmering. JARVIS must have turned up the heating on Charles’ floor, since it was warmer here than it had been upstairs. Good. Kids caught colds all the time, and the weather was steadily getting colder. Tony hated getting sick.

There was a distinct aura of worry about Charles, the general sensation of concern tugging at the edges of Tony’s consciousness. He hadn’t met a telepath before Brian’s son, but the feeling was fast becoming a familiar one over the last two weeks. Mostly it was just a hum of awareness and the occasional burst of emotion that wasn’t his own. Tony turned to look down at Charles’s mop of hair.

“You probably heard us before, yeah?”

A nudge that said, quietly:  _yeah._

“Sorry about that.”

 _warmchocolateMaxlipstick-smudgejamdoughnuts._ A telepathic hug. Tony couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

A brief pause.

“Kinda past your bed time though.”

Charles made a reluctant noise and burrowed deeper into the beanbag and Tony. There was something stuck in Tony’s throat, and it was a few long minutes before he could swallow again, let alone form any words.

“C’mon,” he said at last, “I’ll make you hot chocolate.”

“Marshloos,” said Charles.

“What was that?”

“Marshmellows,” said Charles, pulling back a little.

Tony laughed.

“Yeah okay I’m sure we can find some. JARVIS?”

“There is a packet in the pantry, sir. Left cupboard, top shelf.”

“Yeah, see? Who’s got it covered?”

_JARVIS does._

Charles held his arms up again, and Tony obligingly scooped him up, letting the beanbag raise up to deposit them in a standing position. Best beanbag in the world. He carried Charles to the kitchen, sitting him down on a chair before going to the cupboard. There was indeed a packet of ‘drinking marshmallows’, whatever that was supposed to mean. He tore open the packet with his teeth and threw a couple of the small squares in his mouth.

Sugary.

_I want one! ...please._

Tony handed him the entire packet.

“Go nuts,” he said, rummaging in the drawers until he found two mugs, setting both onto the countertop. Then he stared.

“Uhh,” he said.

“There’s a coffee machine behind you, sir,” said JARVIS helpfully, “It also makes hot chocolate.”

“Ah,” said Tony, “I knew that.”

God, it had been a long day. A long week. Child rearing was hard. He slotted a mug in the machine and pressed the appropriate buttons. It churned to life, humming a little as something steamed. He half turned, and watched Charles play with the marshmallows – lining them up in neat rows on the counter from cold to warm colours.

Something pinged, followed by a small burst of anticipation from Charles. Tony set the hot mug down in front of him with more care than he took with any of his own drinks.

“Blow on that,” he said, “or you’ll burn your tongue.”

 _Okay,_ thought Charles, and obediently hollowed out his cheeks to blow. Then he dropped all of his marshmallows in, waiting until they half-melted into a colourful sugary goo before taking a sip. The resulting milk and confectionary moustache was….kinda adorable.

“You’re a menace,” said Tony, grabbing the stack of napkins and gave one to Charles. “JARVIS, take a picture.”

_Hey!_

“Certainly, sir.”

 

 

  
 

Tony took the opportunity to make himself an (extremely Irish) coffee, and then spent a good twenty minutes devouring the marshmallows with a six year old. Eventually, when Charles looked like he was about to topple off his chair or fall face first into his mug, Tony put him to bed. He was actually feeling rather drowsy as well, despite the coffee, and it wasn’t until he had pulled the duvet over Charles that he realised the sleepiness wasn’t his own.

“Oh,” said Charles, sitting back up again, “Max is still out!”

He made as if to slip off the bed again, but Tony pushed him firmly back onto his pillows.

“I’ll fetch him for you, Master Xavier,” said JARVIS, in that same soft tone that was meant for children. A moment later, there was a bark and the sound of Max running towards Charles’ bedroom. He appeared in the doorway, barked again, then made a beeline for the bed before jumping right on. Clearly Charles was the sort of kid to indulge in his pets. Maybe he’d like a few more animals – Tony had caught him conversing with the goldfish just two days ago. Perhaps he’d buy him a pair of parrots. Or a couple of budgies.

“I like birds,” agreed Charles, because he was nothing if the most agreeable child Tony had ever met.

“Yeah?” said Tony, patting him on the shoulder, “We can go to a store and pick one out tomorrow if you want. Or Happy can get you some, if you’re not feeling up to it.”

They’d probably have to start slowly training Charles’ blocking techniques, if he was ever going to go to school or venture out to street level. The very thought sparked all sorts of ideas in Tony’s head, but now was probably not the time. Well – not the time to test out the theories anyway. He would wait until Charles got used to things.

“Sorry,” said Charles, tugging at Tony’s sleeve.

Tony frowned.

“For what?”

Charles was chewing his lip.

 _Being a problem,_ thought Charles, and the apology was sandwiched between a flashback to Pepper’s  _worriedangryconfused_  expression and Tony’s own uncertainty. The apology was probably meant to make Tony feel better, but instead it just made him feel like he just murdered a box of helpless kittens.

 _You’re NOT a problem,_ he thought back, in what he hoped was a suitably loud mental voice,  _NEVER think like that._

_Ms. Potts is scared of me._

“Oh fuck,” said Tony, rubbing his hand over his face, “Really? Shit. She seemed fine when I told her a month ago.”

_It’s not her fault. Most people don’t like it. Me. Telepathyreadingsecretsinvasionintrusion -_

“Jesus...”

_But she’s trying. Please don’t be angry at her?_

“I’m not  _angry_ ,” said Tony, “just…”

A long pause.

“You need to go to sleep, kiddo.”

Charles looked at Tony for a long moment, little child eyes very earnest and very blue. Then he yawned, as if unable to stop himself.

“Yeah,” said Tony, “Like that.”

 _Maybe._ (Reluctance.)

“You gonna be okay?”

Charles nodded, eyes still on Tony even as he stood up from the bed.

“If you need anything, just tell JARVIS. He’ll get me. Or you can get me – “ Tony tapped the side of his temple, “- whatever works best, okay?”

Charles nodded again, thoughts warm and quiet. He gave off affection like a small, old fashioned radiator. Tony wondered if he wasn’t projecting on purpose.

“Lights, ten percent,” said Tony, as he turned towards the door. He lingered for a moment, hand on the doorknob. Then he cleared his throat.

“Goodnight, Charlie.”

_Goodnightsorrythankyouloveyoudon’tbeangrydon’tbesad…._

 

Tony closed the door.

 

That feeling – emotions bundled up at the back of his mind – followed him all the way back to the penthouse, so much so that Tony got straight back into the lift and went back downstairs, all the way to the main living area. More importantly, to where he knew a full bar was stocked.

“Sir,” said JARVIS, disapprovingly.

Tony ignored him. He needed a drink.

:i:

 

The thing about loss is that you grew to expect it when you were older, often because it snuck up on you when you were a child. Disappointment was the most common kind of loss; of expectations, silences and fathers. In Tony’s experience, loss was rarely the absence of something but rather the accumulation of words unsaid, of things undone and of dreams unwished. When loss  _was_ an absence, it usually went hand in hand with an ugly thing called grief.

 

They were nine – too old to be wasting summers away, or so Howard said, but it wasn’t a waste of time if it was  _fun._

“I think we should get a ladder,” said David, because he was the sensible, boring side of the  _TonyDavid_  coin. (Tony was the fun, daring and shiny side, of course – but he never said this out loud just in case David dunked him in the pool again.)

“Ladders are for the weak,” said Tony, shucking off his jacket and toing off his shoes, “And I need to get that plane down before dad finds out.”

“Maybe I should try again,” said David, squinting into the sun, “I can feel where it is – but when I move it, it keeps hitting something. Probably could get it down, but might break a wing…”

“Oh my god, don’t even,” said Tony, “That shit is vintage and dad will kill me.

“I could probably fix it,” said David.

Tony finished rolling up is sleeves and eyed the tree shrewdly. The trunk wasn’t too high – he could probably reach the first branch with no problems, and maybe get to halfway in no time. Getting down might be a bit harder, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“Seriously,” said Tony, hoisting himself up to the first branch, “Dad said Captain America painted that plane. He probably has it like, photographed in a gazillion angles and will notice if anything is chipped. I’ll grab it and chuck it down. You catch, okay?”

“You’re going to fall and break something,” said David, “It’s quite high up. I’m sure I can – “

“Stop being a chicken,” said Tony, glancing back down. At his friend’s concerned expression, Tony scowled. “Don’t you dare call Jarvis either – it’s too risky! He might tell someone. Just help me get the plane down and put it back in the study.”

David sighed.

“Fine. I’ll help.”

Taking off his own shoes, David followed Tony’s path up the tree, clambering over the branches and directing them towards where the toy plane was stuck, wings and propellers caught in the twigs and foliage. The blades must have cut into wood or leaves because no matter how David tried to wiggle it free, something was definitely  _stuck._

Soon, it became quite clear that the plane was not going to be the only things stuck in the tree.

“I’m telling you,” called David, who had somehow ended up above Tony, “That branch is too skinny!”

“It looks fine from here!” Tony shouted from where he was balanced on his own branch, arms straining as he held onto the branch above his head to steady himself. David was flat on his stomach, legs wrapped around the branch so hard he was loosing the feeling in his thighs. Even so, his stomach gave a queasy twist when the branch he was on swayed with the wind.

“This is so your fault,” muttered David. But Tony caught it anyway and gave an indignant snort of protest.

“You’re the one flying the plane, I can’t help it if your control is crap.”

“You were the one messing with the remote while I was trying to fly it!” snapped David, “so this is your fault!”

“I was  _trying_ to help you train your powers,” said Tony crossly, “Which you know, the current situation clearly shows you to be lacking in.”

David felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. His powers had gotten stronger as he grew – he could lift cars for minutes at a time now, with scarcely a wobble. But his fine-motor control was not as good, and so he and Tony had taken to practicing. Usually this involved manipulating a pen until it could scrawl a flawless script across paper, but they wanted to try something new today. It was all going well until the plane got too far away – it was hard making the plane fly by manipulating the speed of its rotors instead of simply levitating it in the air.

And now they were stuck.

Carefully, David eased himself into a sitting position. If he could get onto that branch diagonally above his head, he should be high enough to reach the plane, untangle it, and retrieve it. He swallowed hard, glancing downwards. Then he swallowed again. The ground was a long way down – mostly obscured by leaves and branches by now. He took a calming breath. Then another.

“Hurry up!” called Tony, “My hands are getting sore!”

“Be quiet!” snapped David, “Stop distracting me.”

Letting go of the branch with his hands was a frightening thing, but David did so, reaching up until he had his hands looped around the branch above. Then he slowly shuffled forwards and upwards until he was half standing. He tested the branch above him. It wobbled when he tugged, but seemed solid enough.

“Look,” said Tony, “I’m close enough you can just pass it down.”

“Yeah,” said David, “Okay. Just. Stay still okay?”

He took another deep breath, then swung his right leg up over the branch in his hands. For a moment, his stomach gave a nauseating lurch as the branch swayed alarmingly downwards, but then he was on it and the plane was right there.

Breathing a sigh of relief, David shuffled with his knees to move him forwards and outwards – away from the trunk of the tree and towards the stranded plane. Now that he could actually see the thing, he could move it with his powers. There was indeed a branch stuck in the rotors, but it was thin enough that it probably could be snapped without damaging the actual metalwork of the plane. David let go of the branch with his right hand, reaching out with his fingers splayed and concentrated. He mimed turning, index finger and thumb pinched around an imaginary screw – and felt a thrill of accomplishment when the fine-bladed rotors turned in the mini plane and the fell away. Carefully, he floated the plane down.

“Yes!” said Tony, fist pumping, “Okay jazz-hands, float it over.”

“I got it,” said David, grinning from ear to ear as he levitated the toy down to Tony, “I – ”

There was a sickening  _crack_.

Then David was falling.

 

:i:

 

_Stark Tower, New York City. Present day._

Sometimes, Charles woke up with a pounding headache that wasn’t his own. Sometimes it was accompanied by a terrible nausea that made him hurry to the bathroom, only to not throw up anything at all.  Usually it went away by the time he had a hot shower and Uncle Tony had his first cup of coffee.

Uncle Tony had strange sleeping patterns. That is to say, he didn’t seem to have a sleeping pattern at all – sometimes he would go to bed at the same time as Charles, and sometimes Charles would listen to the hum of his thoughts (numbers, pictures, complicated mechanisms all rolled into one) until he fell asleep…only to wake up to the same stream of consciousness the next morning.

So they didn’t really have a routine that they fell into – but that was alright. Most days Tony and Charles would have dinner together in the main ‘house’, a couple of floors down in the Tower. Breakfasts were a bit more rare, and lunches even more so, but it wasn’t as if Charles didn’t know how busy Tony was. Father had been like that too, so Charles was perfectly okay being on his own for the majority of the day.

What was a little harder to stomach was the guilt and doubt that would permeate the air after every missed meal. Charles didn’t know how to make it better, asides from trying to be as quiet and non-intrusive as possible.  _(Why can’t you be a little more normal?)_

Father would probably know what to do.

 _Would have known_ , he corrected himself in his head.

Crying changed nothing. But it was one of those things that Charles’ head knew to be illogical; whilst his heart couldn’t understand why it was so.

 

It was a remarkably warm day for November – perhaps it was because they were so high up; the sun streamed into the living space and painted all the wood into a glowing, honey colour. Dummy had made Charles a ginormous glass of strawberry smoothie, which he was now drinking on the balcony. It was still a bit chilly to be swimming, but Charles had gotten changed into shorts so he could dangle his feet in the pool while slowly working his way through a book he found in his bedroom. It was a proper book; hardback with thick glossy data-pages the size of his chest (expensive).  _21 st Century Robotics: Illustrated._

Charles loved books. This one had kept him occupied for the better part of the morning until something caught his eye.

“Look, Dummy!” said Charles, “You’re in here!”

At the sound of his name (Charles was disappointed to find that, like Max, none of Uncle Tony’s other robots could hear him telepathically) Dummy gave a questioning whirr and rolled over to the side of the pool, extending his arm over Charles’ shoulder to look where Charles was pointing.

On the page, there was a picture of Dummy, which moved across the valley of the spine to the second page, doing random tasks. At one point, the video-Dummy tried to turn the page of the book he was in, which Charles thought was very clever.

The real Dummy nudged the book, prompting the images to change. This time, text appeared alongside a colourful photo of a much bulkier Dummy sitting next to a young man with dark hair and grease stains on his fingers. Charles studied the picture for a moment.

 _It was Uncle Tony!_  But smaller.

“Tony Stark poses with prize winning robot in his father’s workshop at Stark Industries,” read Charles. “That’s you,” said Charles, petting Dummy’s arm, “Prize winning robot! Uncle Tony looks little. And weird without his moustache.”

Charles flipped quickly to the back of the book, and taps a few letters carefully into the search bar of the index. He frowned, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Master Xavier?”

“Why aren’t you in here?”

“I suspect it’s because I am technically not a robot, sir. I merely operate robotic entities on certain occasions. Mostly, I exist as a program.”

“Oh,” said Charles, “I still think you should be in a book though.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. I’m not old.”

A pause.

“Maybe Uncle Tony can build you a robot body!” said Charles, as a sudden thought struck him. He nearly threw the book into the pool in his excitement, and it was only saved from its watery fate by Dummy, who caught it just in time.

“Whoopsies,” said Charles. Then rallied his thoughts, “But yeah! JARVIS! Then you can move around instead of being stuck in a computer.”

“I believe Mister Stark did entertain such thoughts at one stage,” said JARVIS, “But they were abandoned.”

“…oh,” said Charles, disappointed. “That’s okay I suppose. Maybe you can ask him again. For Christmas.”

JARVIS chuckled.

“I’ll file a memo, sir.”

“ _Charles_ ,” said Charles, pouting.

“Charles, sir,” said JARVIS.

Charles kicked his feet, making the water splash. Every curving floor of the tower had a balcony, but he was the only one with a balcony pool – Uncle Tony said there was an indoor one further down, and also an outdoor pool on the largest floor. If Charles peered over the edge of his balcony, he could see it – a large puddle of bright blue against the grey cityscape beyond. It looked very different to home, which was mostly green.

He kicked his feet some more, and took another sip of his smoothie. He wanted JARVIS to keep talking, but wasn’t sure what to ask a Rather Very Intelligent System. But he liked JARVIS’ accent. It reminded him of Father, when he would read long passages from his thesis to put Charles to sleep. They both had the same calming sort of voice.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Charles?”

“When’s your birthday?”

“…are you referring to a date on which I was created?”

Charles stared at his toes in the water.

“Yeah…”

“It is difficult to pinpoint a single date, as I am something of a work in progress,” said JARVIS, “but the 17th of September was when version one-point-oh was activated.”

“Oh, but that’s already gone!” said Charles. “Next year then.”

“Of course, Charles.”

“And Dummy too,” said Charles.

Dummy nudged Charles’ shoulder. Max rolled over from where he was lying on a towel and peered at Charles’s empty smoothie cup. Satisfied that it was merely a cup, he rolled back and continued to sun bathe. Charles splashed the water for a few minutes, bored.

He could feel Tony’s presence, faint and fluid, somewhere far, far below Charles. Probably in his workshop – Charles was practicing his blocking today, so he was actively trying to ignore Tony’s thoughts. In the solitary quiet of Stark Tower, however, it was rather hard. Mostly it was as if Charles’ mind couldn’t help but gravitate to the nearest mind, and with the city falling far below, Tony was the closest person around. Blocking him out was like trying to block out your own voice inside your head, or like trying to think only in pictures and not sounds.

_Hard._

Plus Charles suspected that being alone for so long was actually expanding his range, because he could hear whispers of the street in the quiet; a buzz of a million voices that could be tuned in and out if he concentrated on any single one. He was scared that if he concentrated too hard, he’d get lost in the sea of thoughts and never make it back to his own body. At least back home, there was always Mother and Father to shield his mind for him.

“What’s Uncle Tony doing?” he asked.

“Modifying a car engine,” said JARVIS. “Would you like me to call him for you?”

Charles chewed his lip, thinking hard. If Tony wanted to spend time with him, he would be around – or he would have invited Charles down to the workshop, like he had done a couple times before. Charles liked the workshop – liked watching Tony work, liked being introduced to all the robots and the things Tony wanted to make. But he also knew that the workshop was Tony’s personal space and if he didn’t invite Charles down with him he probably wanted to be alone (wanted to be away from Charles) for a bit (to ignore the  _problem_.) Mother’s parlour was likewise off limits, and Charles always knew not to annoy her by seeking her out when she was in there, unless it was absolutely necessary.

“No,” he said.

His toes were starting to prune. Charles wiggled them under the water, before pulling his feet out of the pool and stamping on the towel to dry them. Then he retrieved the book and carefully tucked it under his arm.

“Would you like to have lunch?” asked JARVIS, as Dummy picked up the towel (rolling Max off with a protesting bark) and followed Charles back inside.

Charles paused.

“Is Tony going to have lunch?”

JARVIS was suspiciously silent for a moment. Then he said,

“Sir informs me that he is currently ‘in the zone’. I predict it may be a while before he resurfaces for food, if left undisturbed.”

Charles plopped himself down on the bean-bag.

“Is he gonna have dinner with us?”

“Sir has a charity gala to attend this evening,” said JARVIS, “He says that you may order as much junk food as you wish.”

“Oh,” said Charles.

There was a clattering sound from the direction of the kitchen. Charles sat up – but it was only Dummy, washing out the smoothie glass. By the wall, the goldfish thought bubbly thoughts in their tank. Beside them, the clock read one thirty in the afternoon.

He’d be happy just sitting in the workshop. But at the same time he didn’t want Tony to get sick of him. It was just very  _empty_ all on his own. Charles wished JARVIS was human.

“Are you hungry?” asked JARVIS, gently.

“…no,” said Charles, and hoped it was the correct answer.

 

He ended up having dinner (pasta with roasted mushrooms) with Dummy, around the same time he felt Tony leave for the charity gala with Pepper and Happy in the car. Then Charles brushed his teeth, walked Max around the balcony pool, read a few pages of ‘ _21 st Century Robotics: Illustrated’_ to Dummy, bid JARVIS goodnight and went to bed early.

 

Charles is woken up several hours later by a lady called Christine Everhart who was up to absolutely no good  _at all_.

 

In truth, he was first awoken by Tony’s presence – familiar and warm by now – returning. It grew closer and closer, faster and faster as the lift rose up through the tower, brushing by to jolt Charles out of sleep and the near-emptiness he had tried to get used to during the day.

But Tony wasn’t alone – there was a stranger nearby, whose thoughts cut through Charles’ mind, clear and sharp next to Tony’s fuzzy, lacquer slurred observations. It was the subject of her thoughts that had Charles bolting out of bed, sleepiness gone in a surge of worry and realisation that Tony was too drunk (thoughts too unclear, no words - ) to realise what she was planning to do. Charles called out:

_Tony. Tony! TONY!_

…. _fucking thought she – what the – getthefuckoutomyheadjesuschristnotnow –_

The thought was accompanied by a jarring sensation of horror and something that tasted like disgust, which made Charles withdraw as if his hand had been burned. JARVIS, in his omniscience, brightened the bedroom lights as Charles fumbled his way to the door. He was barefoot – no time to look for slippers – and wearing his night things. The stranger was thinking sharp strategic things about Tony and what they were going to do first and Charles decided he didn’t need to look anymore but get to the lift.

Max, who had been dozing at the foot of the bed, hopped off and followed Charles hopefully to the door.

“Charles, can I help you?” said JARVIS

Charles opened his bedroom door and squinted in the bright hallway lights.

“Missus Everhart wants to steal things from Tony!” said Charles, hurrying across the living area and around the darkened kitchen, “Pictures of the house. No Max, stay! She brought a – what’s a mole? JARVIS, we have to stop her!”

“Rest assured I will stop any attempts to hack into Sir’s databases,” said JARVIS, voice calm and soothing, “You have no need to worry. Why don’t we head back to bed and – ”

“No, no, no,” said Charles, shaking his head for good measure, “She’s – Tony isn’t thinking properly! She’s going to..to…” he shuddered, “…and film it!”

“I’ve already disabled the camera, it’s quite alright,” said JARVIS, “Sir sometimes brings…acquaintances home. It is not an uncommon occurrence. You really shouldn’t worry – “

There was no actual button next to the lift, just two sheets of metal that served as the elevator doors. Tony usually didn’t have to do anything to get the lifts to open. Sometimes he pressed a hand to the door. Charles knew that JARVIS controlled everything.

“Let me up,” said Charles, “Please.”

He felt like his head was going to overfill soon if he didn’t go up there and stop it. Behind him in the kitchen, Max whined and thumped his tail against the floorboards.

“Very well,” said JARVIS, and the lift doors wooshed open. Charles almost ran inside, and then the next moment fount himself in the hallway to Tony’s floor. Tony had a habit of projecting thoughts – and even as drunk as he was, he was still very  _loud._ Not as loud as Ms. Everhart though, and Charles followed their thoughts (and voices), past the sunken Jacuzzi, past all the delicate glasses hanging from the ceiling in the bar, past the balcony…

They were in Tony’s room.

Charles took a deep breath. Surely Tony wouldn’t be too mad at him once realised what Ms. Everhart was thinking.

Charles pounded his fists on Tony’s bedroom door.

There was a sudden pause, in which Christine Everhart’s mind when shockingly still ( _Who is that? Fuck.  I wonder if it is that brat he’s taken in, oh goddamn the camera is havetogetmyshirtbackon - )_

“Charles,” said JARVIS, voice quiet from where it was coming out of the wall, “Sir would rather you go back to bed.”

Charles kept pounding on the door stubbornly and ignored JARVIS’ suggestion.

“Tony!” he called, when he got no response asides from a blaringly loud mental chant of random numbers, “ _Tonnnyyyyyy_.”

Nothing.

So Charles pushed – took Christine Everhart’s thoughts and flashes (imagessounds _objective)_ and played it out for Tony, pushed it as strongly as he could along with the sensation of  _look-stop-get-her-away! (She is lying she doesn’t actually like you she’s lying she wants –)_

Someone swore, from beyond the door. And then:

**_GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!_ **

 

Charles stumbled backwards, and fell back onto his bottom in shock. His mind rang from the force of those words, the sensation of being struck across the face; blur of emotion, something vicious and hurting. His ears rang too, even though Tony hadn’t actually spoken out loud.

He felt cold all over.

Charles pushed himself off the floor and ran for the lift. The doors opened for him soundlessly, and when he was back on his own floor, he ran for his room, ignoring Max who had been sitting by the lift doors, waiting. He tugged open the door to his room, and when the dog made to follow, Charles slammed the door shut before it could come inside.

Max whined and scrabbled at the wooden door with his little metal paws.

“Go away!” said Charles, voice choked up with tears.

“Charles, Sir will be quite alright – “ JARVIS began.

“You don’t know that!” Charles screamed, unable to keep the fear and knowledge of what he had seen in Christine Everhart’s thoughts down any longer, the ugly glee that was coming off her in waves even as Tony kissed her –

“I can hear everything!” Charles shouted, “You’re just a computer, and  _I can hear everything_ and you won’t do anything, you – you –  _!”_

Charles climbed back into bed, pulling the rumpled duvet completely over his head. He tugged one of the pillows closer to his chest, clutching it in lieu of a Father who adored him and a Mother who wished he wasn’t what he was, but still tried to love him despite his lack.

( _Get out of my head stop listening stop listening I just wish – why can’t you be normal, I’m sorry baby I just can’t…Brian doesn’t understand nobody can know they’ll take him away maybe for the best not normal get out of my head keepoutkeepoutkeep –_ )

It must have been the shock of Tony’s rejection – the lingering strength of it, because Charles couldn’t hear anything except the noisy in-out of his own breathing and the inhale-exhale of his thoughts rattling around his own skull.

(He missed Christine Everhart’s presence dimming and drawing away; missed Tony’s thoughts drenched in the bite of whiskey.)

Eventually, Charles cried himself to sleep.

 

:i:

 

_Stark Mansion, New York. 21 years ago._

Mum told him that David ‘wasn’t coming back’, (as if David had left of his own accord, as if it was an accident – unavoidable as unexpected rain).

But Tony knew better.

In fact, Tony knew lots of things:

He knew that David had broken his neck in two places in the fall, and died almost instantly. He knew the sound of his own screaming, and the sound of the deafening silence afterwards. He knew the sickening sound of a body hitting the ground that occupied the in between. He knew that he was never going to forget it. (He knew the expression on Jarvis’ face when he finally found them, the way he had said ‘ _No. No, David!’_  and the way David been so still.)

Most of all, he knew it was his fault. (He told Jarvis that he was sorry, over and over, but Jarvis said nothing at all).

David’s room was still exactly the same: his books stacked in neat rows because he was a child that liked old fashioned things. His battered leather shoes sat by the bed, his good ones in the coffin where he lay; a handful of metal trinkets on his desk. There was a half formed silver figurine by David’s bed, a work in progress, frozen; a cat curled in repose. Tony’s lessons continued as they did Before, and life spun on in much the same way. The only things that had changed the colour of Jarvis’ hair.

 

When Tony was nine, he built his second robot.

When Tony was ten, he became the youngest person to write a programme that passed the Turing test.

When Tony was eleven, he lost Jarvis:

 

“I have something to show you,” he had said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. He kept both hands clasped behind his back so it wouldn’t give him away.

Jarvis put down the datapad he had in his hand.

“Something legal, I hope,” Jarvis said.

Tony grinned.

“It’s in the lab.”

Jarvis inclined his head, and obliging followed Tony down the stairs. Dad had given Tony his own lab for his tenth birthday, after one too many explosions and twice as many inventions in his Father’s workshop. Now, Tony had mostly free reign, which meant he had stocked the room with a fridge, a comfy couch, pillows and blankets – all the necessities for  _ideas_. Slapping his palm on the door and opening his right eye, Tony nearly dragged Jarvis into the workshop by his sleeves.

He discreetly kicked a coke bottle under the table, hoping Jarvis wouldn’t notice that either.

The butler was surveying the room with that mildly fond, mildly exasperated expression he always got when Tony invited him down.

Tony wheeled his creation over; a heavy metal disk that rose roughly four inches from the workshop floor. A holographic projector.

“I was gonna wait until I got the body built,” he said, trying to fill the silence (there was too much silence to fill in the house already), “But I want to show you now, so like it’s just a image of what it  _will_ look like, at least once I figure out how to make the skin less rubbery. It’s even better than the last one, I think – took me ages to get the voice right because there’s a fine line between too predictable and  _real_ you know? I think the trick is setting wide enough parameters, but like, obviously having some kinda backup in case it goes all HAL on you and shit.”

Jarvis raised both eyebrows.

“Okay, okay – “ said Tony, one hand poised on the keyboard. He twisted his wrist, signing with his fingers – and the hologram flicked to life.

A boy appeared.

Tony had built the projector especially for this – creating the body for the android was taking a lot longer than he expected, and he wanted to show Jarvis as soon as possible. Normal projectors were somewhat translucent at best, the image quality worsening as the range grew wider. This one was almost solid, and Tony was very, very proud of it. He beamed at the boy, who smiled back.

“Hey,” said Tony, “This is Jarvis. I told you I’d get him to meet you soon, didn’t I?”

The boy turned to Jarvis, who was standing stock still in the middle of the lab. So distracted with his AI, Tony was only beginning to realise that there was something wrong. All the blood had drained out of Jarvis’ features, and his hands were shaking.

“Hello,” said the boy, “My name is David.”

Jarvis merely stared.

Tony bit his lip, glancing from his AI to Jarvis then back again.

“I haven’t got him quite right yet,” he said, hurriedly, “I’m still working on the finer details. But he’ll look a lot more realistic once I give him a proper body. It’s just – it’s just taking a bit longer because I had to sit some stupid exams and I might not have proper equipment over in Cal…but you can talk to him! He sounds just like – “

Jarvis held up a hand.

“Tony.  _Please._ ”

Tony felt the words drying up in his throat. His cheeks felt hot.

“Don’t you like him? If you just talk to him, I can figure out what I need to tweak in the coding, but he – “

“Tony,” said Jarvis. It was like the way he had said  _David_ , and it made him go cold.

Tony stopped.

Jarvis sighed, and hid his face in his hands.

There was a long, long pause.

“Please turn it off,” he said, at last.

“But what about – ”

“Tony.”

“ – really, you can barely tell the difference between – ”

“ _Haven’t you done enough?_ ” said Jarvis, voice ringing like a slap in the silence.

He took a deep breath, face ashen.

David’s eyes were wide, matching Tony’s own expression. (Later, he would wonder what this meant. Right now –) he could only stare as Jarvis turned on his heels and slowly walked out of Tony’s workshop, wordless as the footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

 

A week later, Jarvis resigned.

Three months later, Tony was shipped off to MIT.

(Before he went, he left the hologram projector on his father’s desk. David’s body he left in a cardboard box in a corner of his workshop. The AI he took with him to rewrite.)

The personality code he wiped clean as his own slate.

 

When Tony was thirteen, he wrote anther AI and named him JARVIS.

But Jarvis never did come home.

:i:

 

_Stark Tower, New York City. Day after The Christine Everhart Incident._

Charles spent the morning in the safety of his bed. He let Max in first – feeling guilty that the dog had been sitting outside his door faithfully all night – and allowed him to clamber back into the blankets and pillows with him. When JARVIS asked if he wanted breakfast, the resentment from the night before came bubbling back to the surface and Charles told him to go away.

He went through the family photo album instead, digging out his father’s data-pad from where it had been carefully wrapped in a cardigan and stowed away in a secure drawer. Unlike Mother, who hated photographs of any sort unless she was properly made up, Father liked to take photos of any number of things: Charles, plants, cool sunsets, Charles, trips to the museum, ice-cream, a bird taking a bath, Charles.

_Charlie! Look at Papa. Smile!_

Father had never minded when Charles talked to him telepathically. Not once. Sometimes when he was busy, Charles could tell that he was annoyed at being interrupted: but not because the interruption was a thought as opposed to a sound.

Then again, if Charles was to be grown up about it all, perhaps it was logical that Father would love him more than Uncle Tony could.

Perhaps if Charles was a bit more normal, then Uncle Tony wouldn’t be so anxious and nervous all the time when he was around him; thoughts tangled up in the strangeness of sharing his home with a child (a CHILD!) and the daunting prospects of having to look after him. The nervousness in turn made Charles uneasy, wondering everyday if Tony’s thoughts would turn to irritation – when the novelty of having Charles would wear off and he’d become more trouble than he was worth.

And Charles might be little, but he wasn’t  _stupid._ He knew Mother and Father had a lot of money, and had become very, very good at distinguishing who was being nice to him because of the money and who actually liked him. Uncle Tony fell in the second category. Probably because he had so much money himself he couldn’t care less about trying to get to Father’s fortune.

Maybe.

Charles hadn’t really looked.

He was trying not to look now, clutching the edges of his thoughts close to his own chest and trying to block out Tony’s presence and the radio-hubbub of thoughts way way down.

Charles swiped his index finger across the screen again, and  _there_ ; a picture of his Father at the desk, working. It had been taken from a very low angle, and Charles guessed that he had probably taken the photo himself. The next ten pictures were all very similar; a little stop motion film of Father as Charles swiped his finger back and forth, back and forth.

His chest hurt. And there was a gaping absence in his head.

Charles got up and put the data-pad back in its drawer. His stomach growled, and Max’s ears perked up.

“Charles,” came JARVIS’ voice from the wall, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a sandwich? There’s – “

Charles tried to glare, but it was hard to glare at someone who had no presence, no thoughts and no body. He sat back down on his bed and folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he said.

“Certainly, sir,” said JARVIS, “But would you like something to eat first? I promise you don’t have to talk to me while you have lunch.”

Charles’ stomach growled again. He glared at that instead.

Tony probably hadn’t had any lunch either. He was always snacking. Then Charles remembered the chocolate left in his Father’s drawer in the study, and wondered, with an irrational spike of panic, whether someone had noticed and taken it out. It would go bad; otherwise, or maybe attract mice which would gnaw on the nice wooden desk. Only Father and Charles knew that the chocolate was there: it was their secret stash.

And now it was probably going bad, or someone had thrown it out.

The thought made Charles want to cry. He sniffed instead, rubbing his eyes furiously with his pyjama sleeves.

_Enough with the crying, for gods sake. Brian, you take him, I can’t deal with the noise anymore._

“I want a – a grilled cheese sandwich,” said Charles. Then, despite his attempt at being sulky, he added, “Please.”

“Of course, Charles,” said JARVIS, sounding pleased as only a computer could, “Do you have a preference for the kind of cheese?”

“…stretchy kind?”

 

Practice told Charles that if he was  _doing_  something, it was easier to keep his mind occupied and shield out any unwanted thoughts. With this in mind, Charles fed the goldfish. Then he made six cheese sandwiches with Dummy’s help (JARVIS refused to let Charles handle a knife which Charles thought was stupendously unfair considering he was probably better at cutting off crusts than Dummy was), two with added tomatoes that he found in the fridge. These he set aside, un-grilled, in case Ms Pepper dropped by and wanted a snack.

Dummy, Charles and Max watched the steam curl up from the sandwich press, the smell of cheese wafting tantalisingly around the kitchen. Dummy cut the sandwiches into halves, and then slid the triangles onto plates.

Max barked, then sat down on his haunches, tail wagging.

“You can’t have people food,” said Charles in his sternest voice. He carried his plate over to the beanbag, facing the balcony. It had grown a lot colder in the last week or so, and even though the sun was high in the sky, there were still stubborn clusters of snow outside.

Charles picked up a sandwich, and blew on it for a moment before taking a bite.

Behind him, Dummy whirred closer, arm reaching over to the plate. Charles held it to the left.

“Uh-uh,” he said, “ _People_  food.”

Dummy drooped. Charles set the plate down on his lap, and chewed. The cheese was indeed the stretchy kind – soft and salty; the kind of junk food that Mother detested but allowed on the occasion. It was also one of the things Charles had managed to master, to make himself something to eat when everyone was too busy for a child of five.

He spread his free hand and looked at his fingers; all five of them, small and stubby. There was a little white scar by his thumb, from the time he accidentally smashed a vase and tried to clean it up with his hands. Belatedly, Charles realised he forgot to wash his hands.

He dropped his sandwich.

_What would Mother say?_

And suddenly, his vision was going blurry with tears and there was salt on his lip. Charles tried to blink the tears away, sniffling hard, but they welled up from goodness knows where and he turned, trying to look for a tissue while wiping his face with his sleeve. It was gonna get dirty.

Another wet sniffle hiccupped past his resolve, and Charles covered his eyes with both hands instead, trying to  _stop crying stopstopstopstop._

Something nudged his shoulder.

Charles looked up.

It was Dummy. He had Charles’ half-eaten sandwich in his mechanical fingers, and was offering it with tilt of his robot arm.

Charles stared, surprised out of his next hiccupping sob. Tentatively, he took the sandwich from Dummy, who made a loud, approving sort of whirr and opened-closed his fingers a couple of times.

 

They ended up sharing the sandwiches (“You can have  _one_ , Dummy.”), even though Charles wasn’t sure if Dummy could even digest food – he was a mechanical help!bot after all – but you couldn’t argue with the evidence that one slice of the last sandwich definitely disappeared, never to be seen again.

Charles was putting the plate back into the sink for washing when he felt Tony’s mind – louder than usual – approach at an alarming speed. The lift. Charles nearly fell off the stool he was standing on, in his haste to turn off the tap. Dummy grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and lowered him until his socks touched the kitchen tiles.

“Thanks,” he said, surprise making him a bit out of breath, thoughts akimbo. Should he go back to his room before Tony arrived? There was something distinctly awkward about the way he was broadcasting, along with a strange cloud of separate chattering (rather like the goldfish but five times louder) – and even though Charles tried his hardest to think of the big stonewalls back at home, it wasn’t helping him to keep Tony’s thoughts  _out._

His dithering was probably why he was still standing in the kitchen when Tony stepped out of the lift, wheeling in a something as tall as he was. Charles stared at him, wide eyed. Tony stared back, eyes equally big. The something was emitting loud chattering noises.

“Hey!” said Tony, voice very loud for the quiet, “I got you something!”

Tony was thinking about doughnuts again – a sure sign that he was trying not to think about something else. He wheeled the contraption across the hardwood floor, and Max bounded off his butt to go investigate, barking all the while. Tony set his load down at a blank piece of wall next to the clock and the window. Then he whipped the plastic cover off the object to reveal –

“BUDGIES!” he said, with a big grin ( _oh jeez are those tear tracks? has he been crying, I hope this will cheer him up, fuck, he likes animals right? I hope this will cheer him up I hope this will cheer –_  ), radiating nervous energy so loudly that it was impossible not to hear it. “From Australia,” Tony went on.

Despite himself, Charles drew closer to the cage, peering upwards.

There were five, brightly coloured birds in the cage: one blue, one yellow, one yellow-green, one white-and-blue and the last one with purple looking feathers. Charles wondered if Tony had picked them out. They were noisy birds: chattering and chirping nonstop, observations careening in a pleasant hum at the back of Charles mind. One was flapping its wing furiously, like a grounded helicopter, while digging its claws into the branch it was standing on. They looked incredibly soft, and Charles was torn between curiosity and being upset.

He settled for just staring instead.

“Do you want to hold one?” Tony asked, because Charles was a kid and kids could be distracted which meant that maybe they could forget about what happened yesterday. “I was told their wings have been clipped so they won’t fly away. You can take them out and everything.”

Tony was reaching to unlatch the cage. Charles thought this was a very bad idea, judging by how fast the blue and yellow budgies were zooming about their cage.

“No,” he said.

Tony paused.

“No?”

“I don’t wanna take them outside,” said Charles. Tony’s face fell, and Charles added quickly: “They might get lost!”

Tony sighed, pulling his hand away.

“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah okay. I suppose that’s smart. Do you want them in your room or out here?”

Charles shrugged.

“Don’t you like them?” asked Tony, frowning.

“I like them,” said Charles, glancing from the birds to Tony and then back again. But Tony didn’t look convinced. His frown deepened, eyebrows furrowing.

“Are they for Christmas?” Charles asked.

A pause

“Nah,” said Tony, hunkering down next to Charles and fiddling with something at the foot of the cage. It wobbled, making the birds screech. Max barked. The budgies all took off for the top perch.

“Look,” Tony said, “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday, okay?”

And he  _was_ sorry – Charles could feel it despite all the walls he was trying to throw up – the heavy, guilty feeling tugging at his stomach and a low simmering anger just beneath it. Charles couldn’t tell whether the anger was directed at him or Ms. Everhart or Tony himself, but it was there – and he didn’t want to go to close to it. He stared at his slippers instead.

“I was drunk,” said Tony, when Charles didn’t have a reply, “And JARVIS told me you were worried about – that is to say, you really really don’t have to worry about that kind of thing. In the future. Okay? JARVIS will take care of it and seriously all I wanted was – anyway I was drunk, and you probably just got confused and – “

“I wasn’t confused!” snapped Charles, “I wasn’t! She had bad thoughts!”

“Okay, okay,” said Tony placating, holding both palms up, “Look just – the stuff I say when I’m drunk, drunk people say things they don’t mean, okay? You gotta just ignore it. I’ll try not to drink so much. Be drunk so much. Around here anyway, I’ll – I’m sorry you got worried, okay?”

“People say things they don’t mean,” said Charles, “They don’t  _think_  things they don’t mean.”

Then: “And I know what drunk is. Mummy liked al-ki-hol too.”

Tony stared at him for a long, long minute, thoughts a-scramble. Then he rubbed a hand over his face, as if he was very, very tired.

“Charlie,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter of the budgies, “I didn’t mean for you to keep out of my head always. C’mon kiddo, look in here and see if I’m saying the truth.”

Charles crossed his arms, hugging his own elbows. But Tony was projecting so loudly that he didn’t have to actually look to hear what he was thinking.

“You caught me at a bad time,” said Tony, words halting as if he was having trouble getting them past his teeth, “I was drunk, and hor- uh, and not quite here,” Tony twiddled his fingers next to his own head, “And you sounded like my conscience, a bit.”

Another pause.

“Look, Tony is sorry, okay? I’m sorry I snapped. My head has been all quiet this morning, can’t get used to it anymore. You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?”

Charles twitched.

_You really don’t mind?_

**NO.**

Charles winced. “Loud.”

_Sorry. You know, we gotta figure this thing out – the volume of thoughts. Interesting. You’re like a little wireless receiver._

_You’re_ loud _. I can’t help hearing stuff, sometimes. I don’t look on purpose…_

_Yeah well, you can. I mean, I’ve been thinking. You can’t stay up here forever, and we probably should start looking at telepathic-proof alloys so that you can go about crowds. At least until you learn how to shield better. You must be bored cooped up here._

Charles blinked. Tony’s mind was sparking off in every which way, tangents everywhere from that one thought. It was like listening to a particularly excited stream of consciousness; about how Charles might be able to shield if he used another person as a dampener, someone to filter thoughts through so that he wouldn’t receive as many. Father had never suggested this before: but maybe there was some truth to it, because Charles got a lot less headaches when he could just sit at his Father’s side and soak up the world that way.

_I’d make a fucking awesome human telepathic transistor._

_…??? Maybe,_ thought Charles, testing out the idea of being in the midst of all those people. It made him feel a bit queasy, to be honest, and he chewed on his bottom lip nervously.

Tony inched forwards on his crouch until they were nearly touching. Then, in a weird aborted kind of movement, he gave Charles a quick, but tight hug. Charles tried to remain as stiff as a board but gave in because he didn’t want Tony to get the impression that hugs were not appreciated.

 _Thank you for the budgies,_ he pushed at Tony.

It was Tony’s turn to shrug, but Charles could feel the frission of relief and pleasure that went through Tony at the comment.

“I was going to  _make_ you a parrot,” he said, “But I thought I’d get you a real pet. Pets.”

“Max  _is_  a real pet!” Charles protested.

Tony made a face.

“No he’s – ”

Max bit him on the ankle, having snuck up on all of them when they weren’t looking. Tony yelped.

“ – fuck, you menace!”

“Max! Sit! Sit!”

“ – I’m going to replace all your teeth with cotton buds you little – “

“Sir – “

“Tony!”

“ – get back here you – “

“Dummy,  _no_!”

 

:i:

 

_CEO’s office, Stark Industries Headquarters, New York City. Present Day._

Obie leaned back against desk, jacket open and hands in his pockets. Tony had bagsed the biggest, most comfortable leather chair so he could lounge and looked relaxed. He still felt all of ten years old in the face of, well,  _overwhelming fatherhood._

Fuck.

“And that’s why you wanted to talk here. And why you locked me out of the Tower for a month.”

“Uh,” said Tony.

Obie sighed.

“I wish you had told me earlier. Or at least told me enough for me to help.”

Tony spun around in the chair.

“Yeah well,” he said, once he had gotten his expression under control, “Brian never wanted it to come out,” Tony waved his hand, “To be public. I don’t even think Charles is on the register, and it took some time to get all the legal sorted. I thought it best to keep it…you know. Down low. It didn’t seem like a necessary thing to let out of the bag, until now”

“Tony,” Obie said on the exhale of a sigh, “You’re CEO of this company – “

Tony raised a finger.

“And our stocks have never been higher! I thought I’d just interrupt to remind you of this important piece of information, before you go on to besmirch my – ”

“ –  _and,”_  Obie continued patiently, “I don’t think you’ve really thought this through.”

“The kid’s parents are both  _dead,_ ” said Tony, bristling, “all he has left are some shitty relatives who are all in it for the money and shittier Execs. Speaking of, how’s Marko?”

Obie smiled with his teeth.

“Showing his own way out,” he said.

Tony allowed himself a grin too, but couldn’t keep it up for very long.

“Anyway,” he said.

“You know I said nothing when you took that kid in,” said Obie, “But looking after a telepathic six year old is really quite different to taking in a normal child – “

Tony frowned.

“Charles is a sweet kid,” he said defensively, “Probably the lowest maintenance one I’ve come across. It’s not that. I just…I’m too young for this!”

A pause.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Tony stopped spinning in his chair. The floor tilted to the left, then swung back to the right.

“Yeah?”

“I’m concerned,” said Obie, laying one hand on Tony’s shoulder, “That the kid – “

“ _Charles_.”

“ –  _Charles_  is a… liability.”

Something cold and heavy sank to the bottom of Tony’s stomach.

“If he really is…  _telepathic,_  as you say,” Obie continued, “what’s more, a child who can’t control his telepathy…he’s not only a liability to you, but to this company. And if someone finds out – it doesn’t bear thinking about. You must have contingencies, if you’re to let him live with you.”

“Contingencies,” Tony repeated slowly.

“Perhaps if you were to send him to the country, somewhere out of the city. Didn’t his parents leave him that giant mansion in Westchester? You don’t actually have to live with him personally, and that would diminish the risk of him, ah, overhearing something sensitive.”

Tony leaned forwards in his chair, already shaking his head.

“Kids don’t deserve to be raised by nannies,” said Tony, words working their way past a tightening constriction around his chest, “At least I had mom most of the time. Charles only has me.”

 “Tony – “

“No.”

“Tony, be reasonable, unless you find some way of keeping his telepathy in check, he’s a major liability. Tell me you have something in mind.”

Tony rubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes for a moment before blinking them clear again.

“I’m working on it,” he said at last, “I…I figured I’d let JARVIS home school him for a while, until he gets used to things here. Then slowly wean him off, let him get used to more and more people, give him time to learn how to control his talent…”

He trailed off at the look on Obie’s face.

“What?” he said, throwing his hands out, “He can already block some thoughts, he’ll be able to insulate himself better as he get’s older. Theoretically anyway. I have a lot of working theories, actually, which might interest you.

“Tony – “

“In my defence, I don’t think there are many x-gene telepaths. Not sane ones anyway, according to JARVIS there have only been three other telepaths in the last century, two of whom became vegetables from isolation therapy. I’m not letting that happen to Charles.”

Obie sighed again; a long sigh that Tony assumed only came with age and silver hair. He could never pull off such a weighty exhale of CO2.

“Well,” said Obie, “I don’t think it’s healthy letting a computer home-school anyone.”

“JARVIS won’t be doing all the home schooling,” said Tony dismissively, “I’ll be doing half of it too. I’m not going to let a computer raise a kid, Jesus, who do you think I am?”

Obie only raised an eyebrow.

Tony glared at him.

“You are the one going on and on about liabilities,” he said, pointing a rather heavy metal tablet pen at his adoptive uncle, “It’s not like I can just go out and hire…and hire…”

Tony trailed off, as a thought struck him mid-sentence.

Obie’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Then frowned when Tony half fell out of his leather chair in the attempt to stand up while it was still spinning.

“Hire a…?”

Tony let out a curse as he banged his hip on the sharp edge desk, and decided to compromise by half vaulting over it instead of risking another encounter with anymore sharp angles. He wrenched the door of the office open before Obie could finish his asking his question. He jammed his thumb against the lift button, while activating the laser Stark-pad in his watch. It scrolled open, a splay of light across his wrist and palm. He tapped down a few notes. Scrubbed them out. Then tapped them out again.

“I’m guessing lunch is off?” called Obie from down the hall.

“RAINCHECK!” said Tony, and shoved himself into the lift. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

 “Where did we store all my old junk from the lab in Malibu? The boxes. Dummy’s old gears, those ancient liquid-drives and all that stuff.”

“I believe they were all moved to the storage room in Stark Tower, sir. Floor B3. Would you like them retrieved?”

“Yes,” said Tony decisively, “How’s The Child doing?”

Oh good. STARK3 was in its parking slot.

“He’s having lunch with Ms. Potts, sir. They spent the morning making pizzas. Shall I tell them you’ll be dropping in?”

Pizza. Pizza was tempting…

 “…Less carbs, more robots. Get Dummy and You to move those boxes upstairs, I’ll be home in ten.”

“Certainly sir. Though may I ask where the fire is?”

“Just had an idea,” said Tony, and floored the accelerator.

 

:i:

 

_Stark Tower, New York City. Two days before Christmas._

 

The tree Tony ordered arrived overnight.

(The conversation went something like this:

_Pepper: Tony, where’s the tree?_

_Tony: Uh, I don’t celebrate Christmas. I’m allergic. It’s in my file._

_Pepper: You’re not going to celebrate Christmas?_

_Tony: I didn’t celebrate it last year. Or the year before. Or the year before that. I figured you know, why break the trend? When the data speaks for –_

_Pepper: You adopted a six year old. And you don’t to celebrate Christmas; a holiday I know the Xaviers celebrated every year because I sent cards on your behalf come December. What does your little Raising Kids book have to say about this?_

_Tony: …fuck._ )                                                                                                                                  

It was a huge-ass tree, the biggest one Tony could find which JARVIS  _also_  deemed would fit in the house, bristling with all its natural, organic pine-ness. For as long as he could remember, the Starks always got a real tree for Christmas – even after Tony outgrew the Santa story at the ripe old age of five (when Howard decided to explain why reindeers really couldn’t fly, let alone carry a fat bearded man in the sky – and the entire thing had gone downhill from there.) Tree decorating was something Maria always made time for, and Tony could remember David floating all the ornaments up so that they didn’t even need a ladder that particular year.

Then Tony went off to MIT, and tree decorating, along with most other Christmas celebrations, were shelved and boxed away. In fact, Tony couldn’t remember doing anything specific for Christmas asides from drinking a little more every year. Suddenly being dropped back into the routine of childhood was jarring and more than a little uncomfortable.

He stared at the pine tree that was taking up an entire corner of his living room.

Charles sneezed.

One of the crystal baubles fell off the top of the overflowing box in his hands. A sharp inhale of breath as it bounced once  _(!!!!!! Sorrysorry!_ ), twice then rolled to a stop. A relieved exhale, when it didn’t break.

_Ooops…._

Tony patted Charles on the head. He secretly loved doing this – it made him feel very tall.

_It’s okay._

He set down the two boxes he was balancing in his own arms with a dusty  _whumph,_ and Charles followed suit.

“So,” said Tony, “Is it big enough?”

It was at least ten times Charles’ height, towering above the both of them and brushing the ceiling. Max had already run multiple rings around it, then attempted to pee on it.

“One at home was bigger,” said Charles, tugging on one of the fir-branches, “But we had it in the foyer. Tall ceiling.”

“Yeah, well, Pepper would kill me if I remodelled the ceiling for this tree. Maybe next year. If you ask. She’d totally say yes if you asked. You could get away with murder, batting those baby blues. You should, by the way. The asking, that is, not the murder. I’m not the kind of irresponsible dad that encourages murder from six year olds.”

Then Tony realised what he had said. But before he could start freaking out ( _Dad? When had this moniker arrived? Shit!_ ) They were interrupted by Dummy who wheeled in with a whistling noise, and deposited four giant boxes of decorations at Tony’s feet. Instead of going out and buying new decorations, JARVIS had reminded Tony that he had more than enough shiny things stocked up over the years, and  _do we really need to order a hundred crystal snowflakes, sir?_ Max barked excitedly, wagged his tail, then bit Tony on the toe.

“Fuck!” said Tony. He pointed a threatening finger at the robot. “I gave you life, you – show some respect.”

Charles giggled.

Tony paused, then cleared his throat.

“Okay, so you wanna make a start on the bottom branches while I do the tinsel? Dummy can probably help with the bits we can’t reach, then we’ll get a ladder so you can put the top star on. Yeah?”

Charles nodded, a bright smile on his stupidly angelic face. It was a face that reduced Tony’s vital organs to roughly the same consistency as Charles’ favourite drinking marshmallows, and made his thoughts go all strange and retarded, trying to shield itself and trying not to shield itself in the hopes of not upsetting Charles with the impression that Tony wanted him out of his head (which he didn’t, alright, it’s just hard to keep these things straight sometimes) which started this whole mess in the first place.

Something of his inner turmoil must have filtered through because Charles gave him a reassuring hug around the knees, before opening the first cardboard box in front of him.

Tony dropped down to sit on the ground too, because it was not nice to tower over someone who was shorter, and also easier to rifle through the boxes. It was not because his legs had suddenly turned to jelly. He was Tony Stark. His legs were meant to be made of steel, determination and genius – like the rest of him. He blamed the hormones; having a kid was messing with everything.

In the meanwhile, Charles seemed to be intent on finding all the blue crystal baubles and lining them up in a row. He was currently leaning in so far into his box that he was running the danger of falling right into it, head first and feet in the air. Max helpfully tugged on a piece of red tinsel and started to pull.

“Oi,” said Tony, “Stop that.  _Bad_  dog. Bad bot!”

Max growled and did not relinquish his tinsel.

“Max,” said Charles sternly.

Max dropped the tinsel.

“What!” Tony exclaimed to the dog, “You traitor!”

 _How many of these are there?_ Came the inquiring thought.

“Uh,” said Tony, “They’re like ancient. How many’ve you got?”

_Thirty one._

“Just chuck them up, Charlie. I don’t care if the tree isn’t symmetrical, as long as it’s got a  _lot_ of crap on it, okay?”

 _Okay…_ (doubt)

“Seriously,” Tony continued, “All of _this_  – “ he gestured expansively at the boxes stacked in front of the tree, “ – needs to go on  _that_.”

“Actually, sir, the number of decorations in those boxes may prove too numerous for this particular tree. According to my calculations, the surface area of – “

“Oh my god,” said Tony, with exaggerated punctuation, “Did I program you to be the Grinch? Did I tell you to rain on my parade? Did I? Dummy, unpack that box. Butterfingers, I know for a fact we have more Christmas lights in the garage under the lab. Bring them up, we’re gonna run out here, I can tell. We have  _work_  to do.”

 

_Four hours later._

In Tony’s defence, the tree had only fallen over twice. Which was better than the last time he had tried to decorate the tree. Plus, Charles didn’t get squashed, which was surely the thing that counted. On the downside, they were both covered in pine needles, tinsel and sweat, when JARVIS said:

“Sir, Ms. Potts has informed me that Lieutenant Rhodes is due to arrive in half an hour, and that you should be informed.”

Tony jumped up so fast the head-rush was horrendous.

“Rhodey is visiting?” he blurted out, “But he said he couldn’t make it until after Christmas. As in the day after. When did this happen and why didn’t you tell me sooner? Never mind, tell Rhodey he’s not allowed in. I’m busy. He should have made an appointment. I’m a busy guy. I’m busier than he is. I’m – “

“But you want him to visit more,” said Charles, sounding confused because he was a telepath but still a six year old, bless his little Captain America socks, “Right?”

A pause. Then:

“Who is Rhodey?” he asked.

“A presumptuous asshole,” said Tony. “And a bad influence for you, Charlie, you stick close with me. Rhodey’s military, which means he is no fun. It’s contagious, and so not a good person for you to be around, you’re too young.”

_Uncle Tonyyyyyyy…._

“…I’m serious kiddo. If you’re not comfortable having someone around so close, JARVIS will lock him out. Or I can go down and tell him to go away. Because I’m cool and JARVIS do as I say, won’t you, JAR?”

“Against my better judgment, sir.”

“My judgment still ranks above yours.”

“Certainly, sir,” said JARVIS politely.

 _Up to you,_ thought Tony, trying to annunciate the statement in his mind loud enough that Charles would catch it. It was trial-and-error, but it seemed that the more he concentrate on something, the ‘louder’ it was telepathically. Sure enough, Charles looked up from where he was still clutching one of the decorative bobbles – this time a miniature sleigh.

 _I think I’ll be okay,_  thought Charles, still tentative but warm,  _you haven’t seen him in aaaages…I’ll be okay! I think. If he doesn’t have loud thoughts. Does he know? (about metelepathymutationrejection)_

Tony shook his head.

_Oh._

_Our secret?_ Tony suggested.

A curl of affection and relief.

_Yeah, okay._

“Yeah okay,” said Tony out loud, “I suppose I  _can_ fit him into my schedule for today. Let him up once he’s here, JARVIS.”

“Certainly, sir.”

_Just tell me if you change your mind, yeah? I can see Rhodey later._

_I’ll be okay._

Tony hunkered back down. He and Charles exchanged a fist-bump.

_You’re a champ. You’ll let me know if you get a headache, okay?_

_Okay._

_Right. Now. Up you get – we gotta finish this tree._

Staying still expectantly, Tony let Charles clamber back up until he was clutching Tony’s shoulders, legs around Tony’s waist; piggy back style. Then Tony jumped up, Charles letting out a delighted whoop of glee at the sudden change of height. He accidentally whacked Tony in the jaw with the hand holding the ornament.

_Ow._

_SORRY!!!!_

_Just put it onto the goddamn tree._

Charles hung the sleigh obediently onto one of the branches of the goddamn tree. Tony looked down. Still two and a half boxes to go. Jesus F Christ.

 

_An hour later._

 

_RHODEY!_

Charles winced, and Tony hastily tried to tone down his thoughts by thinking of something else. Or something. But it really wasn’t often that Rhodey had time to drop by these days, what with America and Duty and all that. And truth be told, Tony Stark didn’t have many friends.

The tree stood in all its decorative glory, the entire outer surface covered in dangling baubles, glittery tinsel, lights or – failing that, an assortment of china and plastic ornaments that looked as if they spanned several decades and more than a few shops. Charles was currently  _in_ the last giant cardboard box, searching for any remaining round crystal balls for the few centimetres of tree yet uncovered.

Tony and Rhodey exchanged Bro Hugs.

The extracted themselves from the Bro Hug.

Tony wrinkled his nose.

“I swear,” he said, “You get more and more straight-laced every time I see you. Is your collar ironed?” he flicked it, “You could get a paper cut on that thing. Not safe.”

“And you’re…not hung over,” Rhodey observed, “I’m impressed. What happened?”

Tony punched him on the arm.

“Excuse you,” he said, without any real heat, “I was tree decorating.”

“…I can see that,” said Rhodey, eyeing the tree with the trepidation of one who had witnessed what happened the last time Tony Stark decorated a Christmas tree.

“And it’s one of the few things one cannot do while drunk. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

There was the sound of rustling, a series of clinking and Charles’ head popped up over the edge of the cardboard box.

“Drinking is bad,” said Charles, solemnly. Then he waved, flashing Rhodey a winning smile, dimples and blue eyes turned on full blast. “Hello! I’m Charles.”

Rhodey stared.

Charles stared back.

“So,” said Tony, “Is my tree badass or what.”

 

 

 

They left Charles in the living room, sorting through the last of the Christmas decorations with Dummy and Butterfingers, and went up to the penthouse for some quality Bro Time, which, by definition, required Tony’s quality collection of liqueur. Rhodey looked like he had gone way too long without some, judging by the way he kept glancing at his watch when he thought Tony wasn’t looking.

Idiot. Tony saw everything.

“ _Drinking is bad_ ,” Rhodey was repeating for the nth time, “Drinking is  _bad,_ he says. This is not your kid.”

“Yeah,” said Tony, “I haven’t got to that part of his home-schooling yet.”

Rhodey made a sound that was simultaneously a snort and a gurgle of indignation. Tony thumped him on the back for good measure, and Rhodey gave a wheezing cough. There, all better, the fucker.

“Pepper told me what happened with Brian. And now you were saddled with a kid,” said Rhodey over the rim of Tony’s best whiskey, “I told her no way – Tony wasn’t a children kinda guy. And then I turn up…. and you have a kid –“

“His name is Charles –”

“ – a  _Charles_  in a box.”

“ – ‘Charles Francis Xavier’, actually which. Wow. Have you heard anything more posh or pretentious? You have? Okay so I’m not really doing it justice. You have to say it with a British accent, and look down your nose while you do it. Yeah, like that.  _Ch-ahhhrles Fah-rrrancis Xay-vi-ah._ Sharon nearly gave him something unpronounceable or French, but Brian said wanted to name him after his own Father. So Charlie it is.”

“You’re taking this rather better than I expected,” said Rhodey with an unhealthy does of scepticism directed towards Tony’s abilities to look after things. Children. Stuff. Alright, Rhodey has a point. But despite all of Tony’s failings, he hadn’t actually looked after any kids before. And hence hasn’t had any bad track record with them. Technically.

 “He’s kinda low maintenance. Eats all his veggies. Gets on with the bots. I mean, really.”

“In a  _box_ , Tony.”

“Charlie’s small for his age,” Tony explained. At Rhodey’s blank look, he elaborated, gesturing with his hands to approximate the size of a six-year-old-compatible box; “That’s why he can fit. Because he is small. For his age.”

“Right…” said Rhodey, “And how old is he – four?”

 _I’M ALMOST SEVEN!!!!!!!_ Came the indignant mental protest. Tony hid his own wince this time.

_Inside-the-skull voices, kiddo._

_Sorry._ L  _???_

J  _It’s okay. Just not so loud._

J  _Kay._

“Six,” he corrected, “But he’s super smart. Gonna be a heartbreaker when he grows up too.”

A pause.

“Tony…”

Uh-oh. Tony knew that tone. It was the same tone Pepper employed when trying to persuade Tony that  installing dancer poles on his jet was a bad idea. Obviously it turned out to be a good idea, which just shows how misguided this particular tone of voice was.

“Are you going to give me the Tony  _You’re Not Ready For This_ talk?” said Tony, “Because I feel like, as the person doing the child raising, I’m the one who, you know, gets to say whether I’m ready or not. That is to say, uh, yeah. Also, Charlie is a sweet kid. Never complains or screams or throws tantrums or anything. We got this.”

“Tony, I just feel like you’re not – ”

“Old enough? Please, there are sixteen year olds raising kids. By age alone I totally should be able to do this gig at least double the – “

“Tony!” said Rhodey, loud enough to make Tony pause. “Look. Don’t take this the wrong way, okay –“

“Sure,” said Tony, “So what’s the right way to take it? Because you always say not to take something the wrong way without setting the parameters for – “

“ – but I just don’t think you’re… raising a kid is a big deal, Tony, you can’t just get bored and send it off to a charging station like one of your robots. You’ve gotta spend time with them, you gotta think about which school they should go to, college, things like – “

“Wait,” said Tony, holding up the hand not currently occupied with a drink, “You think I’m not taking this seriously enough.”

Rhodey made an exasperated sound, half way between a sigh and a snort.

“When do you  _ever_ take anything seriously? Anything that doesn’t isn’t charged with a battery or hasn’t got wheels, anyway.”

“That,” said Tony, pointing with his index finger, “Is unfair. I take lots of things seriously.”

“Right,” said Rhodey, unconvinced.

“I’m not a normal dad, Rhodey, okay,” said Tony, downing the remainder of his drink in one, “I’m a  _fun – “_

“Yeah, no, Tony,” said Rhodey, “That there – that’s exactly what I’m worried about. Parenthood isn’t about being fun… it’s about being responsible and you are constitutionally  _irresponsible._ ”

Tony straightened in his seat, bristling.

“Hey, I can be responsible if I want – ” he began, but Rhodey cut him off again.

“You have trouble remembering your own social security number. I just…I feel like you should take this slowly… and have a serious think whether you can put someone else’s best interests before your own.”

Ow. Well wasn’t that flattering?

“So you think I’m too selfish to be a father,” said Tony, putting down his drink with a sharper  _clack_  of glass than he intended, “Is that it? Just say what you mean, Rhodey.”

Rhodey made an awkward face. Then:

 _You left your pet rabbit to die?!!_ Charles exclaimed, horror warping his little mind.

Tony wanted to slap Rhodey upside the head for thinking insensitive and irrelevant shit. He mentally face-palmed himself instead. Of course he wasn’t going to forget to feed Charles. He had JARVIS program alerts into every interface for that very precaution. Who did they think he was? Would Brian have made Tony godfather if he thought Tony was going to feed his only child one piece of lettuce too many? Ridiculous. The lack of faith was frankly insulting.

_Rhodey’s lying. Ignore him._

_He’s not lying!! You forgot to change the water!!_

_I was six!_

_I’M SIX!!!! …But nearly seven._

_Hey, I haven’t forgotten to change_  your _water._

_….true._

“Tony? Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmmmrgahrghh?” said Tony, shaking his head, “Yes?”

Rhodey sighed.

“I said you might want to seriously consider some outside help on this one. Pepper can’t do everything, you know.”

“Who said Pepper was doing everything?”

Rhodey gave Tony an extremely unimpressed look.

“Yeah okay,” Tony conceded, “She does most things. But I’ve  _got_ this, Rhodey. Despite what you and the rest of the world thinks. Brian trusted me, and I’m not about to fuck it up. If you don’t trust  _me_ , maybe you could trust Brian’s judgment at least, and give me a bit of time.”

There was a long, long pause.

“How’s he holding up?” asked Rhodey at last, with a head jerk to the ceiling.

Tony allowed the change in topic to pass with nothing more than a refill of both their glasses.

_How you holding up, Charlie?_

A wistful tendril of thought, sad with sea salt. But it was overlayed with the sound of Max barking, the smell of engine oil and the squeeze of a hug. Underneath that was the vague proxy-awareness of Dummy returning to the room with something that looked like a fire extinguisher.

_I’m okay. Christmas!_

_You know what I mean. Also, that had better not be a fire extinguisher._

_It’s not. It’s fake snow. Can we have fake snow inside?_

_Knock yourself out._

_Okay!!_

“Tony?”

“Sorry,” said Tony, “Still not good at that. What were we – oh yeah. He’s doing okay, I guess. In the circumstances and all that crap. Little kids are resilient, right?”

“Seems like a nice kid.”

“Yeah, he is,” said Tony, “Quiet like Brian. Looks like his mom though.”

Rhodey laughed.

“Actually, now that you say that. Sharon never liked me though, did she.”

“Don’t think she liked anyone to be honest.”

“I’m sorry I missed the funeral. I went back to the estate, before flying down here.”

Tony waved his hand.

“Brian’d understand. Never could hold a grudge.”

“Remember that time when you disassembled his model of the X-gene because you thought the manufacturer’s had gotten it wrong?”

“Oh my  _god,_ his face - !” Tony cackled at the memory.

_It was YOU!!!!_

Ah shit.

_No, Rhodey is lying again. Pay attention to your snow, squirt._

_Father thought you were a ‘little shit’ for breaking his model…I remember._

_Charles Francis Xavier, watch your language!_

_You swear all the time!!!_

_I’m not six._

_NEARLY SEVEN._

“…wouldn’t talk to you for three days, locked you out of your room – “

“In my defence I managed to hack back in.”

“Yeah, but it still took you three hours,” said Rhodey, wheezing with laughter.

Tony pouted into his drink.

“I don’t recall you finding it so funny at the time,” he said, sending a mental glare up in Charles’ general vicinity as the child eavesdropped.

“That was because you decided to wake me up at three in the morning when you couldn’t get back into your fucking room,” said Rhodey, finishing off his own drink, “You totally deserved it. That model was expensive.”

“I bought him a new one! Don’t look at me like that.”

Rhodey only shook his head. And this was good – this was okay. Tony could deal with recounting harmless stories, stories that didn’t pull you down with the weight of grief like an anchor to the ankles. Stories were okay.

“Never thought he’d go running off to have children though,” said Rhodey after a while, “He was always so married whatever experiment he had going on.”

“Nah,” said Tony, “He loved little kids. He’d go all gooey and get feelings whenever we got too close to one of them. More surprised that Sharon. You know. What with her career on the line.”

“It’s not like either of us can talk, really, is it?” said Rhodey with a laugh, “Not getting hitched any time soon.”

Tony realised that Charles’ presence had gone suspiciously quiet, and wondered abruptly if it wouldn’t have been smarter to have this conversation elsewhere, out of Charles’ range…but then it would be a blatant rejection that would probably hurt Charles’ feelings. It was a hard line to toe, especially if you were trying not to think about said line as you tried to toe it.

Rhodey poked him in the shoulder.

“You’re zoning out a lot today,” he said, brow furrowed, “Something you want to tell me?”

_DoughnutsdoughnutsstrawyberryglazeDOUGHNUTSdoughnuts –_

“How long have you got?” asked Tony, trying to keep the chant up at full volume while he spoke.

“Flights not until nine tonight. Why?”

_DOUGHNUTS._

“I’ve been working on something big,” said Tony.

 

:i:

 

_Stark Tower, New York City, Christmas Day._

Christmas day dawned like every other morning in the past few weeks – with the balcony pool frozen over, snow piled near the glass and Tony no where to be felt. In fact, Tony hadn’t turned up for dinner the night before, leaving Dummy to cut the turkey and Charles to eat supper with his Goldfish and the newly named budgies.

The only reason Charles wasn’t sulking was because Tony was probably doing something grand and big for Christmas, and didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

That or he didn’t like celebrating Christmas. Which was okay too.

Charles had just pulled a tub of yoghurt out of the fridge for breakfast when he noticed Ms. Pepper’s presence, and he almost dropped the spoon.

“Pepper?” he asked.

“Yes,” said JARVIS, who seemed to take Charles’ telepathy in stride like he took everything else, “She will be joining us for lunch. I believe she has brought you a Christmas present.”

“Yeah,” said Charles, sliding off the stool to go greet Pepper when she arrived, “It’s a book on budgies.”

“Fascinating, sir,” said JARVIS. JARVIS probably knew all about budgies, but that wasn’t the point. Charles didn’t want to spend Christmas alone, and having Ms. Pepper would be great – even though the knowledge of Charles’ abilities made her feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t a very loud discomfort, and Charles could ignore it if they were doing something else.

Sure enough, Ms. Potts stepped out of the elevator, wearing her tall heels, a green dress and a necklace that had a sparkling red gem dangling from it. Christmas colours. She was also carrying a neatly wrapped gift in her hands, and she smiled when she saw Charles.

“Merry Christmas sweetie,” she cooed, bending down to kiss Charles on the cheek and hand him the book, “Did you have fun with Tony yesterday?”

“Um,” said Charles, glancing at Dummy, “Yes? Thank you for the present.”

Ms. Pepper patted his head.

“Mm? That’s quite alright, I hope you like it. Tony said you’ve got new pets, so I thought…”

Charles gave her his brightest smile.

“I’ll read it today!” he assured her. Then stopped when her smile slipped a little at the corner of her mouth, and Charles realised too late that he hadn’t actually opened the wrapping paper yet. He swallowed, suddenly nervous – but Pepper’s smile was back.

“Is Tony still sleeping?”

Charles glanced at Dummy again.

“Um…” he said, clutching his present, “I think Tony is…out.”

“Out,” repeated Pepper. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Ms. Potts?”

“Where’s Tony?”

“Unfortunately I am not permitted to disclose his current location,” said JARVIS, sounding apologetic, “But sir would like you to know that he is very sorry for the delays and that he will be back home before it is time to open the presents. ”

The spike of disappointment and frustration from Ms. Pepper was so loud that Charles almost flinched.

“Well,” she said, after taking a deep, deep breath, “Well.” She flashed Charles another smile – but this time it was stiff and forced ( _I’m going to kill him, leaving Charles alone on Christmas day I’m going to_   _\- )_

“I’m just going to give Tony a call, okay? I’m sure he just…lost track of time.”

“Okay,” said Charles because he knew that trying to persuade her not to be so angry wouldn’t really work out well for Tony in the end. There was a distinct cloud of pity that Ms. Pepper had that Charles…Charles went to put his present on the table and got a spoon for his yoghurt. He tried very hard to concentrate on the budgies and fish instead of Ms. Pepper’s growing frustration when Tony didn’t pick up the call.

After a few minutes, she reappeared in the kitchen.

“Um,” said Charles, taking in her expression, “Cup of tea?”

But instead of looking or feeling mollified, Pepper dropped her phone on the table.

“Oh  _sweetie,”_ she says and envelops Charles in a hug.

 _Oh bother_ , thought Charles, as he was smothered in perfume and Pepper’s breasts. He hoped Tony’s surprise was a good one.

 

 

Tony came home five minutes before noon, brain abuzz with caffeine, excitement, overly loud thoughts of doughnuts and bags under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days and days – but his excitement was making Charles jittery.

“Tony  _Stark_ ,” Pepper says as soon as he steps into the room. She’s still got her tall pointy shoes on, and her displeasure just as dangerous, all of it directed at Tony.

Then, bewilderment. “Tony, who is this?”

Charles stared.

There was a stranger beside Tony, standing an entire head taller. Charles had never seen him before, in person or in thoughts, but there was something familiar – perhaps a side echo from Tony’s own thoughts as he pushed the stranger forward, towards Charles. The man had tidy blond hair, combed back from his forehead, and he was wearing simple pressed slacks and a shirt that had _STARK INDUSTRIES_ embroidered on the front pocket. His eyes were a strange mix of grey and blue, and he held himself oddly still and straight.

But that wasn’t what made Charles stop in his tracks.

“Hello,” the stranger said with a smile that showed straight white teeth. He bent down on his knees until he was at the same height as Charles. “I’m David.”

Tony looked beside himself with pride, clapping his hands together and looking from Charles to Pepper and back to ‘David’. But underneath his exuberance was a soft current of worry, whispering:  _what if what if he freaks out, what if it’s like the first time jesus what if they don’t’ like him, what if –_

And as always Tony spoke over his own thoughts.

“Isn’t he awesome?” he said, still grinning, “Sorry didn’t come home yesterday Charlie I was finishing this,” Tony waved a hand at David, who was still crouching on his knees, “had to run all the diagnostics twice just in case, I mean nothing like this has ever been made before and I wanted to be sure. Do you like him?”

“Tony?” said Ms. Pepper, “Tony what are you talking about?”

“Yes,” said Tony with a dramatic flourish, “Tell them what I’m talking about, David.”

David straightened obediently and offered Pepper his hand. Pepper shook it, expression and thoughts wary.

“Are you new?” she asked, eyes flicking to the Stark Industries logo on David’s shirt, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“You’re correct in a sense, ma’am,” David said, inclining his head, “I came online barely two weeks ago, and have only been fully active for five days.”

But even Tony couldn’t keep his thoughts completely quiet or disguised behind doughnuts, no matter how loudly he shouted it. And Charles couldn’t help himself, curiosity taking over his manners.

“But what do you mean he’s an..an android?” he asked, tugging at Tony’s jeans.

“It means he has a body, like Dummy, and a brain, like JARVIS,” said Tony.

“Oh my god…” Pepper breathed, eyes going wide, cradling her hand, “Oh my god Tony It looks  _just like_  – ”

“I know,” said Tony “that’s the whole point! I mean it won’t be healthy, Charlie living with bots, so I wanted to make something human. Minus the stupidity.” He slapped David on the back, and the pride was a burning warmth in his mind, infectious. Charles was still confused. He touched his own head with one hand, the other still gripping Tony’s jean leg.

“But Tony,” he said, “David can’t be a robot.”

Tony laughed, ruffling Charles’ hair and leaving his hand there, a comforting weight.

_He just looks like one, I spent ages synthesizing the materials for the skin so that –_

“But I can _hear_ him – ” said Charles, staring at David “ – in my head!”

There was a deafening pause.

“ _WHAT?_ ” Tony shouted.

 

:i:

 

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, over 18K words for this chapter! I didn't want to split it because I promised that we'd see David, so I kept going and it turned into this monster! Hopefully the next chapter & the wait won't be quite as long. <3
> 
> Do excuse any typos/grammar mistakes - I dont' have a beta for this fic! As usual, any crit is super appreciated. xx
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> \- I know that in canon, the events of Christine Everhart etc occur in Malibu, not New York. This fic is set in the Prometheus future, aka around the year 2025, and so Stark Tower already exists and the whole Marvel timeline is a bit different!  
> \- I originally had scenes where Tony is creating the new David, but this chapter was so long that I cut them out. I might post them later, either integrated into the fic, or separately, depending on interest haha.


	4. Arc 1, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which David becomes part of the Stark household, and learns far too much in far too short a time. Charles gathers a few childhood milestones, and adds a new pet to his small petting zoo. Tony struggles with the idea of fatherhood in the absence of time to stop and grieve.

 

:i:

_“Robots do not hold on to life. They can’t._  
 _They have nothing to hold on with – no soul, no instinct._  
 _They have no will to live.”_  
– Karel Capek.

:i: 

_< < Charles Xavier [Identification: Baby Unit]. Can you hear me? >>_

_Yes!!_

_< < Telepathic input received. Query: Independent telepathic output possible? >>_

_????_

_< < No response from Creating Unit. Independent Output failed. Audio-output required. >>_

The thing was, everyone felt different. Minds and thoughts left a particular sensory mark, the kind that wasn’t simply _touchsmellsound_ but emotions pulled out like taffy, superimposed on a patchwork of conscious and subconscious thoughts, words here and there and everywhere all at once. Usually the consciously formed thoughts were the loudest, but mostly Charles would remember the emotions; the strong ones ( _lovehateadorationdisgustfear_ ) leaving an aftertaste long after the person disappeared. Tony, for example, had a distinctive buzz of protective anxiousness ( _doubtdoubtdoubt_ ) that hummed beneath his rapid fire thoughts, something that remained even though his consciousness was a complicated, ever-sparking maze of tangents. It was as familiar to Charles as his own Father’s voice, and he could probably pick Tony out of a giant crowd without even trying. He couldn’t help but home in on familiar things.

But David felt _strange_.

Not a bad ‘strange’, but so different that it made Charles stop in his mental tracks and double back, eyes wide.

There was no flinch. No nervous, doubtful worry about secrets being exposed, thoughts being watched: _is he listening am I feeling like this because he’s manipulating me what if he’s listening right now what if he tells someone no, no I would never feel this way if it wasn’t for what if he was doing something –_ thoughts that were louder with some (Mother) than it was with others (Papa), thoughts that were there even if one consciously tried to force them back (Tony).

But with David, there was nothing; the resulting hush, startlingly peaceful.

_…hello?_

Then, clear as a (mental equivalent of a) bell:

_< < You are not a virus. >>_

_No!_ replied Charles, _not virus! Telepathy not contagious._

_< < True. I do not see how that could be viable. File for future study. >>_

_You feel like a person. Are you sure you’re a robot?_

_< < Artificial Intelligence is more accurate. This ‘body’ is merely something I operate. As for your question,  are you sure you are a human? >>_

_Yep. I think so. Maybe?_

Charles tried to look deeper, his own curiosity getting the better of his etiquette. But beyond David’s conscious thoughts, everything was too …blurry and fast for Charles to catch or hold still enough to hear. He tried to look deeper, shifting David’s voice – but it simply went by so fast it was disorienting. Not even Tony’s tangents felt like this, and Charles drew back, a little guiltily. But if David noticed anything, he didn’t comment.

_< < I have no primary reference for being human, >> he replied lightly, << and until such a time as I acquire the data, I must infer.>>_

_I like you. You’re quiet and tidy._

And there it was, curiosity curling up on the surface of David’s consciousness like a particularly clear streak of chalk. It was a riveting feeling that Charles had never quite felt before, to have all of someone’s attention focused so strongly and sharply on you. Minds were usually a lot more haphazard, attention strung together like moments on a string. Not David.

_< < How so? >>_

_No bad thoughts,_ Charles replied after a moment of deliberation, _Not even faint ones. And you are very clear. Lots of boxes. Are you a telepath too, because –_

**_CHARLIE!_ **

Charles jerked in surprise, the word having echoed through his head as well as his ears. For a moment, he wondered dumbly where David had gone – but realised that Tony had pushed him out of the way and was gripping Charles by the shoulders and shaking him back and forth. His mouth was moving.

“…back with us? Don’t zombie out like that again, yeah?” he peered into Charles’ face, using one hand to pry open Charles’ left eye-lid. Charles tried hard not to blink. “Hey. Hey, how many fingers?”

_Charlie, use your words, for heaven’s sake, Brian, don’t encourage him._

“…two?”

“Are you sure?”

“…yes?”

Ms. Pepper was stroking his hair repeatedly, doubt and anxiousness pouring off her in waves. Anxiousness was something Charles was coming to associate with Ms. Pepper. He tried to send calm happy thoughts in her direction, but she was too busy thinking about a movie she had seen once where a robot had gone AWOL and secretly began killing everyone.

“I was just talking to David,” Charles explained, when the petting didn’t stop.

“Like, _talking-talking_?” said Tony, wriggling his fingers next to his own temple in some approximation of Charles’ mutation. Charles nodded. Tony turned to give David a very shrewd look. David looked back, expression innocent. He was very tall.

“I don’t believe that was in your code. JARVIS?”

“I was not aware that telepathic communication was an available function, sir.”

“David?”

“I was made to learn,” said David, “So I learnt.”

“Wait, wait, _wait_ ,” said Ms. Pepper, fingers tightening where they came to a stop at the nape of Charles’ neck, “Just… stop. Tony, you created a telepathic…is David telepathic? Why did you think a _telepathic robot_ was a good idea?!”

“Um…” said Charles, but no one was listening.

“Okay, firstly, a telepathic robot is a _great_ idea,” said Tony, holding up a finger in a familiar gesture of defiance and glee, “It’s an awesome idea. Do you know how useful that would be? Unfortunately no one has ever made a telepathic machine, I’m on it, will get there – but I didn’t set out to make Charlie’s nanny!bot telepathic, thanks, so if David has suddenly learned telepathy it wouldn’t be my fault. It’d be Charlie’s fault.”

“What,” said Charles.

Ms Pepper’s eyes were wide with incredulity.

“You are not blaming a seven year old for – “

“No, no, listen!” Tony interrupted, gesturing wildly at David who looked calmly on, “Learning machine. Emphasis on learning. Though I’m not sure what the hardware implications of this is because as far as I know – “

“David’s not a telepath!” Charles said, loudly.

Everyone stopped.

“Are you sure?” asked Pepper.

Charles nodded.

“But he’s not a robot,” Charles continued, “he’s a person.”

“Oh sweetie – ” Pepper started.

“Not human,” said Charles, impatiently, “ _person_!”

“I think we need to run some tests,” said Tony, eyes glittering.

“I think you should turn it off, now,” said Pepper, lips drawn into an unhappy line and eyes on David. Charles felt a flicker of alarm flash through David’s thoughts, clear and sharp as all his other words. Could he be turned off? Would his mind go blank, disappearing from Charles awareness like Mother and –

“No!” he protested, pulling himself out from under Pepper’s hand and running over to where David was standing, “No you can’t!”

“Charles, sweetheart,” said Pepper, stepping closer, but her thoughts were echoing with _be safer if it was off we don’t’ know what it can do what was Tony thinking bringing something like that out of the lab and around a child I don’t trust no better turn it off turn it off just in case be safer then it can’t do anything be safer what if it –_

“You can’t! You can’t, you can’t!”

“Charlie!” Tony shouted, and Charles hiccupped to a stop.

“No one is turning anyone off,” said Tony at last.

“Tony – “ Pepper began, but she was interrupted by David’s smooth, calm voice.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “But it’s getting late in the afternoon and Charles has not eaten. May I suggest we discuss this over Christmas lunch?”

“Food,” said Tony, clapping his hands together, “Then robot existentialism. I knew I made you for a reason.”

<< _Primary directive – purpose of David Unit version 8.0 = protect the well being of Baby Unit._ >>

 

Three hours later, and Ms. Pepper was still not convinced that that David wasn’t going to murder Charles in his sleep.

 

“He’s just like JARVIS,” said Tony for the tenth time, and Charles heard David twitch, a displeasure at being compared to an older model. “He’s just JARVIS but with a body! If JARVIS wanted to kill us he could have done it ages ago but he hasn’t because I don’t make AIs that want to murder their charges. They only want to murder _other_ people. Maybe. Under the right circumstances and specific qualifications that are written into the – “

“Under the _right circumstances_?!”

 “We’re perfectly safe! In fact, David is safer than any random nanny I could hire, no matter how many background checks we do. Humans can be bought out, Pepper. Humans aren’t bullet proof and they can’t be upgraded and they die and Charles needs consistency. The book said so.”

“Maybe,” said Pepper, very quietly, “You should spend more time with Charles then. For consistency. Instead of pawning him off to a robot android _thing_.”

Tony’s face went blank at the accusation, and Charles quickly pulled his thoughts back close to his own chest. Even so, he felt the aching hurt and cringed.

 _I don’t like it when they fight,_ thought Charles.

_< < Would you like me to stop them? >>_

_How? Mother and Father used to fight too. But they always stopped after a while. Maybe if we just wait._

_< < Of course. >>_

_I think she might not be so worried if she knows that you don’t have bad thoughts,_ Charles wondered, _maybe if I showed her. Maybe? What do you think?_

_< < If Pepper Potts is unnerved by my mere existence, I am uncertain that she will be consoled by the nature of my thoughts. But I lack data.>>_

_…so yes or no?_

_< < Yes. >>_

_Okay._

“…there’s a failsafe! Did you think I was dumb enough not to – “

“No. No, I just think it’s highly irresponsible to let a robot raise a child that’s suppose to be under your care – “

“Tony…?” Charles tried.

“Oh we’re not having that conversation again, how is finding Charles the most invincible bodyguard an act of irresponsibility? No, really, explain that one to me, Pep.”

“He’s a _robot_!” ( _can’t be trusted god knows what it’s thinking can’t be controlled need to shut it off what if it starts getting its’ own ideas and what if – )_

“Yes! Exactly!” ( _won’t be compromised, no weaknesses like the rest of us, a better fucking parent than I’ll be god what if – )_

_< < This argument is full of holes. >>_

_I know. I think it’s because no one finishes sentences._

 “You know that is not what I meant.”

“Pepper?” Charles tried again.

“David is bullet proof. Literally. I thought I would mention that. You know, as a giant tick in the Why Tony’s Ideas Are Great column.”

“ _Pepper!_ ” Charles tried for the third time, this time hopping off his seat so he could pat Ms. Pepper on the knee to get her attention. She stopped looking angry and irritated and turned to Charles instead, a forced smile on her face. Charles smiled back.

“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to sound and project reassurance as best he knew how, “David is nice. He won’t hurt anyone.”

“Well,” said Pepper, thoughts clouded with doubt and wariness, “See, that’s what I was telling Tony. We don’t know that for sure.”

“But I can,” Charles insisted, “and I can show you! He just wants to make sure I’m okay. I can hear it all the time.”

“You can show us?” Tony interjected, learning forward eagerly, “How?”

“Show you what he’s thinking,” said Charles, glancing from Tony to Pepper to David.

_You don’t mind, do you?_

_< < Not at all. >>_

 “I don’t think this is a good idea,” said Pepper, drawing back, “I mean – I don’t – “

“David’s not evil!”

“Robots can’t be evil,” said Tony, in a _duh_ sort of way, “robots aren’t human.”

“Well, maybe – “ said Pepper.

“I’ve never met an evil human,” said Charles.

“Thanks,” said Tony, flashing Charles a brilliant grin.

But Pepper was still shooting David wary looks, her thoughts and worries all on edge, so Charles opened up both ends of his awareness, linking David’s presence and thoughts so that they were projected in his own mind, as if Charles was a conduit. He extended it to Tony, whose eager curiosity soothed Charles’ own feedback anxiety from Ms. Pepper, at least a little.

 _< < Ms. Potts. Creating unit. This is most interesting – the speed of communication is instantaneous. >>_ thought David, in that brilliantly crisp way of his, over imposed on an image of Ms. Pepper as David saw her, information humming beneath their immediate words and thoughts like observations too fast to catch.

Pepper’s mental recoil hit Charles like a physical slap in the face.

He withdrew from everyone’s minds on instinct, but not before Tony and David felt the emotion too, through their telepathic link.

“ _Pep!_ ” Tony exclaimed, looking genuinely shocked.

But Ms Pepper was already on her feet; face white and panic at the edge of her eyes. She was staring at Charles and David like she hadn’t quite ever seen them properly before this moment.

“Don’t do that again,” she said, pointing at Charles. Her hand was shaking, “ _Don’t – “_

“Pepper!” Tony snapped, and she stopped, mid-sentence.

“I’m sorry,” said Charles, and he wasn’t quite sure whose horror he was feeling and if it was his own, but it tasted like bile all the same. His heart felt like it was going to break his ribs open, and he felt sick, sick to the bottom of his stomach. He wanted project his sincerity but wasn’t sure if even that kind of gesture would be rejected so he tried to  keep his thoughts locked up, _wall, big tall wall, steel gates, all sealed up all sealed up –_

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he repeated, when Pepper’s expression didn’t soften, “I’m sorry I won’t do it again I won’t – “

“I need to. I need to go,” said Pepper, and she left, taking quick long strides towards the foyer and the lift. Tony scrambled up from the sofa, while David sat, wearing a face of polite bewilderment.

“ _Pepper!_ ” Tony shouted, “Look, wait – C’mon Pep – “ he half turned back to David, “Stay here. I’ll be back I’ll just – _Pep!_ – I’ll just talk to her. Pepper, _wait._ ”

And then Tony was gone too.

 

:i:

 

“I suppose you want me to stay out too,” said Charles in the horrible silence.

David tilted his head, and blinked. All his movements were smooth and economical, and Charles wondered if he needed to blink, really. And if he didn’t, that would be quite cool.

 _< < Why adopt such an inefficient mode of communication when we can explore this one? >>_ David projected.

David was very good at projecting – it was like listening to someone playing the piano live, rather than through a record, the difference between a memory and a real hug. His attention was like a warm spot of sun on Charles’ mind.

 _Oh,_ thought Charles, smiling, and didn’t try and disguise the relief that he felt.

David smiled back.

 

They cleared table, because there was nothing else to do. Charles helped David wrap the Christmas lunch leftovers up and put them in the fridge, and then stack the used dishes and cutlery into the dishwasher. David examined Tony’s half-empty glass of whiskey for a long moment before taking a sip.

_< < Not particularly remarkable >> _

_I like mango juice_ , Charles admitted.

_< < A much better choice. Would you like some now? I saw some fresh mangoes in the fruit partition. >>_

Making juice is Dummy’s job, said Charles, but I think Dummy is busy in the lab.

 _< < I am superior to the DUM-E Unit in every way. I can make excellent juice >>_ thought David and placed four large mangoes on the countertop. Then, because he had reviewed all the security footage of Charles’ kitchen in the last thirty days, David found the fruit knife without even looking for it.

Then he peeled and sliced all four mangoes in under twenty seconds, until there were only the cores left, pale yellow and white.

Charles whooped, clapping.

“Your hands were all blurring!” he said, while David set the knife down by the sink and retrieved a glass jug and the food processor from one of the cupboards, “ _Blurring!_ ”

David looked rather pleased. (He let Charles steal mango pieces straight from the cutting board).

“Will you teach me how to do that?” Charles asked.

“Inadvisable,” JARVIS interrupted from the ceiling, “David has a far higher hand-eye co-ordination than humans. He was just showing off.”

“Robots are not capable of overestimating their own abilities,” said David, scraping all the fruit into the blender, “Without such overestimation, there is no arrogance, without arrogance, no need to ‘show off’. But I suppose since you have been online far longer than I, you must be correct.”

David pressed the button on the processor and whatever JARVIS might have said was drowned out by the high-pitched whine of the blades.

Charles tried to project just how impressed he was, and David awarded him by smiling with all his teeth. (The mango smoothie was very good indeed).

 

It was easy, being in David’s mind. Usually, it was like standing in the ocean, waves of emotions and conflicting thoughts tugging at Charles from all directions. It took effort to delve deeper, and usually Charles just floated on the surface of things (a completely different matter if you asked him not to get wet, if one were to continue with the metaphor). In comparison, David was like a calm lake that welcomed Charles’ presence without a single flicker of wariness or doubt. In fact, David seemed to be constantly _curious_ , thoughts and questions tickling the back of Charles’ mind.

 _Why do you have a German accent?_ asked Charles.

 _< < I was designed that way >>_ David replied _< < You will need to ask Tony Stark _why _he chose German, however. I am, unfortunately, not equipped with telepathic sensors. >>_

_It’s okay. You have me._

_< < True. >>_

_Did he base it on a famous person?_

_< < A childhood friend, perhaps, judging by the recording dates of the files. He knew another David once, and there is a calculated resemblance. I believe he is my namesake. >>_

_…once?_

_< < He died. >>_

Charles must have looked upset because David patted him gently on the head, mimicking what Ms. Pepper had been doing hours before.

_How did you know?_

_< < The internet. >>_ David replied, _< < I also downloaded all the files on the Stark server. >>_

 _Ohh. It must be cool to be able to know so much stuff,_ thought Charles enthusiastically _, and remember everything. You could know the most things in the world!!!! I wish I was like you._

David was studying Charles face as if looking for something, eyes intent. Mother said that eyes were the window to someone’s soul, but Charles knew better. Thoughts, were the window to the soul, and he liked David’s a lot.

_< < Do you really? >>_

_Yeah,_ Charles said, fiddling with the condensation on his glass, _I don’t_ want _to know what everyone is thinking all the time. I don’t want Tony to get tired of me. He might. If Ms Pepper doesn’t like me. I don’t know. What do you think, David?_

 _< < I think it is pointless to want something impossible >> _said David, _ << And that you are one of only two telepaths currently alive. Tony would not be tired of you.>>_

That was less reassuring that David probably intended. Charles shuffled the thoughts over and over in his own head.

 _But I want Tony to like me for_ me _,_ said Charles, _Not what I can do._

 _< < What is the difference? >>_ asked David, tilting his head. Charles was quickly becoming familiar with this movement; it was always accompanied by a particularly strong pull of curiosity, genuine and eager.

 Charles shrugged.

_…I don’t know._

“Charles?”

Charles jumped. JARVIS sounded very loud, as if Charles’ ears had forgotten that they could hear things, or that noise existed outside his mind. He was suddenly aware of a lot of things; the budgies chirping to themselves in the corner of the living room, Max dosing in his dog-bed next to the window.

“Yes?” said Charles, feeling guilty.

“Apologies for startling you. I was merely concerned. You have been sitting…very still for the last half hour. Your pupils – ”

“Oh,” said Charles, “I was just talking to David.”

A pause.

“I see.”

“Is Tony gonna be eating dinner with us?”

“He is out with Ms. Potts at the moment,” said JARVIS after a moment of what Charles assumed was computerly data gathering, “and have made reservations. He should be home after dinner.”

“Oh,” said Charles, unable to hide his disappointment, “But he said…” 

_< < Creating Unit did not specify when he would return. >>_

“I suppose so,” said Charles reluctantly. He looked at the empty glass he was still holding and got up from the beanbag so he could rinse it in the sink. David followed, unfolding his limbs as he stood up. Charles had trouble thinking of him as a robot. David wasn’t a machine. He just had a different sort of mind. Like Charles did.

 _< < You are upset. >>_  thought David, handing Charles a dry tea-towel and bending so he wasn’t so tall. His brow was crinkled in the middle with concern.

 _No,_ thought Charles, stubbornly.

_< < This telepathic…transmission seems to go both ways. I can feel that you are upset. >>_

_Oh. Oops. Fine._

There was a long, long pause.

_< < I can feel that you are upset. >>_

Surprise – and something like wonder. Charles couldn’t quite understand why it was such a big deal, but he gave David a hug around the knees (the tallest part he could reach) nonetheless. David picked him up off the floor, before Charles could ask and settled him on his hip.

 _< < You are sad because you feel uncertain, >>_ said David, voice a soft lull in Charles’ mind, like bedtime stories warm beside the ear, _< < you feel sadness because the Creating Unit leaves you alone just like your Mother did, and you do not know if he will grow to resent you for your differences. _>>

Charles tried hard not to, but his next inhale and exhale came as a sniffle. He buried his face in David’s collar instead, his other hand fisted in David’s shirt. He was warm underneath Charles’ palm, and smelt of freshly starched fabric and something clean, like metal.

_< < Could you show me something else? >>_

 

:i:

 

“Why aren’t you at your charging station?”

David’s expression didn’t change, still as mild as most of his other expressions he had decided to use today.

“I still have approximately nine hours before my power is depleted,” said David, “I thought it best to put Charles to bed first, and remain with him until you returned.”

“Yeah, fine,” said Tony, “Fine. I suppose.”

In the quiet of the house, he suddenly felt as if he hadn’t slept for days – the aching exhaustion tattooing itself on the inside of his eyeballs. When was the last time he slept through the night? Come to think of it, that was probably nearly a week ago. No wonder he felt like shit. Dealing with Pepper’s determined hysteria against David’s new found sentience was not how Tony thought he would spend Christmas.

David was watching him.

He blinked, normally. But it was a particularly focused sort of gaze, like a microscope.

“Perhaps we should talk in the kitchen,” said David, when Tony had lapsed into a silent contemplation of David’s creepy (yet completely human) stare, “So we won’t wake Charles. He tried to wait up for you, but fell asleep around midnight.”

David sounded reproachful, in a way only very advanced AIs could sound.

They were standing, silhouetted in the doorway of Charles’ bedroom, and the soft light from the hallway cast long shadows across the duvet and the lump that was Charles, fast asleep on his pillow. He was wearing one of his captain America pyjamas, blankets clutched up close beneath his chin. Tony noticed that Max was not sleeping on the blankets, like he usually was, but tucked up on the floor. Weird.

“Tony?” David repeated.

“You know what,” said Tony, letting go of the doorknob and stepping into the dark bedroom, “Just. Go to your charging station.”

“I do not need to be – “

Tony sat down carefully at the edge of Charles’ bed. Charles didn’t wake, the lump rising and falling steadily with each breath.

“David, go to your charging station.”

When nothing happened, Tony looked up and raised one eyebrow. He pointed at the door.

“Seriously!”

A pause. And Tony couldn’t really see David’s expression in the backlight, but he thought there might have been something distinctly unhappy about the way he was standing. Or perhaps it was just because David was so tall – but Tony’s David was probably destined for being tall and he hadn’t wanted to change details like that. David would have told Tony to bugger off, or fused all the charging stations into their wall sockets in retaliation.

 “Of course,” said David.

Then he took a step further into the hallway and closed the door with a soft _click_. Tony tried to listen, but couldn’t hear any sound of footsteps on the thick carpet; only Charles’ breathing, slow and steady like a metronome.

“JARVIS?” said Tony into the sudden silence.

“Yes, sir?”

“Check that David _actually_ goes to his charging station, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

Charles shifted in his sleep, curling up like a shrimp. He turned so he was sleeping on his front, face barely visible above the pillow.

Tony was pretty sure children weren’t meant to sleep like that. It didn’t look comfortable at all.

Tony scooted up on the bed, and turned Charles onto his side. When Charles made as if to turn back into his original position, Tony pulled the blankets over, lumping it so that it acted as a doorstop of sorts, keeping Charles turned on his side.

There. Better.

“At least you won’t have a growth spurt and grow into a giant,” said Tony, “Brian wasn’t even taller than me. Just saying. You should take after your dad.”

Charles slept on, and Tony leaned unconsciously towards that soft blanketing comfort which emanated whenever Charles was within reaching distance.

“You look a lot like Brian, you know. You’ve got his stupid hair and your noses look the same. Sharon’s eyes.

“You know, mom was good looking too. Got heaps of photos and vids of her. Really smart, really pretty. Too good for dad because dad was a piece of shit but I suppose everyone is stupid at some point in their lives and then they get married and have a kid and bam, dead.”

Charles was utilising gravity and Tony pulled him back by the shoulder before he could smother himself in the duvet fort that was meant to be keeping him off his stomach. Charles frowned slightly in his sleep, but didn’t wake.

Tony patted his shoulder again, so that he’d stay put. But he didn’t want to take his hand away.

“I was seventeen.”

_Did not cope half as well as you, Charlie._

“At least you’re not old enough to drink yet. Maybe you won’t even really remember Brian that well when _you’re_ seventeen. I don’t know if your – “

Tony wiggled his fingers next to his temple.

“ – will change that but. Time heals all wounds, blah blah blah, right? That or alcohol. Alcohol helps.”

He patted Charles on the shoulder, finding calm in the repetitive motion. There was a tiny wet patch on Charles’ pillow, where he had drooled on it, and Tony thought _jesus, you’re only six, you’re still a fucking baby,_ then:  _you’ve got Brian’s eyes. That same puppy dog look. God._

“I haven’t forgotten about….you know. The other night. It’s just that I never planned to have kids because – well I mean shit, I’m too young and who has got time for kids when they have robots to build, wars to run. All that – all that legacy building, history writing. And I’d love to say you know, Charlie, I’m going to be a good dad and stop drinking right now but…I can’t do that. Not gonna happen. But I’ll try because it’s not fair on you and I don’t think mom would have liked it if I was. Well.”

Tony rubbed his free hand furiously across his eyes, then coughed. Charles curled towards the sound, hand coming loose from its grip around the duvet, which slipped down. Tony leant over to pull it back up for him, and froze when Charles’s little hand found Tony’s thumb and latched on. He made a snuffling sound, and pulled Tony’s arm, plus the duvet, close to his chin.

Tony let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding in. It was a warm, good feeling, like a knot you didn’t know existed until it came undone with a sigh of relief inside your chest. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of Charles’ small, smooth hand, and felt child fingers tighten in return.

“Dad started drinking too. Mom tried to hide the bottles, get me to play somewhere else. But I wasn’t stupid, and Dad had a shitty lock on his study. I mean nothing happened, dad never raised a hand to me. But we didn’t have much to say to each-other. He was just permanently disappointed.”

“Sometimes, I thought if David and I swapped lives, Dad would have been much happier. I mean, magnokinetic. Super rare, never heard of anyone with that mutation before I met him and I was a dumb little kid. We didn’t really make much of it, built flying machines mostly and mucked around. The possibilities were endless you know? We wasted so much time.”

“But dad got me instead. Normal and human and not particularly interesting.”

“If David had been me, he’d still be here.”

“I didn’t make David to make my job easier or so I could go off and …it’s. You have to know it’s not like that. I wanted someone you could trust, someone who will always be there no matter what happens, someone who can’t die, or get bought out, or be distracted with work or start drinking and start looking for war heroes in the fucking ocean.”

“I told Brian I’d look after you, if anything…if anything happened. I just didn’t think it would actually – you know… he was hysterically happy when you were born. Sobbed buckets at the hospital, fucking hilarious and I probably have videos somewhere. Sharon was calm as a cucumber. But your dad was shaking he was so happy. I think he cried louder than you did, when you popped out. Seriously.

“I don’t think he put you down for weeks. Never thought either of us to be dads but I probably should have seen it coming. He fucking loved animals, though obviously we couldn’t keep any pets at college. I remember the first time he – Sharon had just moved back to Westchester – I don’t know, you just projected an image of me and Bri back at school or something, right into my head. I nearly dropped you. I think I did drop you, but we were sitting down.

You hardly ever cried.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Charlie.”

:i:

 

_Tony. Toonnny. Heavyyyy._

_…Fuck off._

_Heaaavyyyy. Tony??_

 

Then there was a sudden shift in gravity. Tony crashed into something hard and unforgiving, jarring him awake with a shout of surprise. There was a shriek, and flurry of movement and then Charles was peering at Tony over the edge of the bed.

It took a long moment before Tony realised where he was, why he was where he was (he must have fallen asleep last night from sheer exhaustion) and that Charles was definitely not strong enough to dump him onto the floor with such force.

Sure enough, David’s face floated into view. He looked mildly surprised, blinking innocently.

“Tony,” said Charles, rubbing one fist in his eye sleepily, “Are you okay?”

“What the fuck, David?!” Tony shouted, because his head was still ringing. He sat up, disoriented. “I thought I told you to go to your charging station!”

“Once my reserve power was completely recharged, I returned here,” said David, “I thought I would wake Charles and make breakfast for him. It is currently quarter past ten in the morning, and – “

“Don’t tell me the time,” snapped Tony, “That’s not your job. JARVIS tells me the time. YOU, apparently, throw me onto floors! What were you thinking? Oh wait, I forgot, you _think_. Well let me tell you something buddy, I gave you life and I can take it away. I can rewire you to make you think that you’re a rubbish can and if you wake me like that again I promise I’ll make your life as a rubbish can as literally shitty as it is possible to be!”

David didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Charles was in danger.”

“FROM WHAT?” Tony roared.

David shrugged.

“Your extra five pounds. You were on top of him, while you slept, and his respiratory functions were severely impaired by the pressure. You would not wake despite both aural and telepathic stimulus, so I took the most effective route of – “

“ _Did you just call me fat?_ ”

 

 

They took breakfast in the kitchen, after Tony had been mollified by a giant mug of strong coffee and a long (physical and telepathic) hug from Charles. David made them omelettes with sides of pan-fried tomatoes, bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice with the pulp still swirling. The cold juice chased the last of Tony’s fatigue away, and the food was better than what Dummy usually made. The presence of actual hands probably helped.

“So,” said Tony, a lot calmer now that he was on his second mug of coffee, “I have an idea.”

David paused, from where he was wiping a food stain off Charles’ mouth with a paper napkin.

“What’s a…a quantum core?” asked Charles, because he was telepathic and Tony could really get used to having a lab assistant that could literally read his mind and save him from having to explain shit over and over.

“Robotic equivalent of a human brain,” said Tony, “Sort of. The short version of a long story. Unless you can download the last few days of my memories into your brain… Damn. Okay. Maybe later. But yes. Don’t have a working theory about telepathy yet, but this _does_ explain a lot. We’ll pop down to the lab when you’re done. Are you done?”

“Um,” said Charles, looking down at the rest of his omelette.

“No,” said David, blandly.

“No one asked you!” said Tony.

 

There was more than one lab in Stark Tower, though Tony had to admit that this particular one had been gathering dust for a little while (two months and thirteen days). He spent inordinate amounts of time with engines, and biology wasn’t his calling…it was Brian’s.

JARVIS lit the room as he always did, and Tony surveyed the mess of notes and a coffee cup congealing on one of the table tops. Charles was peering curiously around, eyes wide like a cat confronted with a new toy. David had his head cocked to one side, as if listening to something only he could hear.

 

Tony set his new cup of coffee down before striding across the room, where the S.M.R.I. sat, gently lit. He pulled the plastic sheet off the curved top and let it pool on the floor, before pressing his palm against the data-face. The machine bleeped awake.

“Running diagnostics,” said JARVIS, “We should be ready in about a minute, sir.”

Tony clapped his hands together.

“Right!” he said, “Up you get, Charlie.”

“Up?” asked Charles, putting both hands on the soft cushioned bed. He was radiating nervousness, tentative and wary as he looked up at the S.M.R.I.

_Is it going to hurt?_

“No,” said Tony, pulling up, “And if you feel strange – or anything really – just yell, okay? And we’ll stop.”

David was examining the S.M.R.I in a systematic way, placing one hand carefully on its smooth white surface, eyes flickering from Tony to Charles and back to the machine.

 _….okay,_ thought Charles, reluctance dragging back the words.

“It’ll help me figure out how you can hear David,” Tony explained, trying to be patient, “Then I can make you something that you know, dampens all that noise,” he gestured vaguely at the wall, “You can’t stay at home for the rest of your life, you’ll go crazy but we need to find out how to help you deal with crowds and – _Uh-uh_! David – no touching!”

David froze, his hand over the control panel. Slowly, he pulled his hand back and smiled.

Tony narrowed his eyes.

“…Go set up one of the holo-projectors. I’ll get you to output as we do the first scan.”

“Certainly,” said David, still smiling and making Tony regret giving him any teeth at all, “Where would you like it?”

“Just, here, somewhere,” said Tony, waving, already turning back to Charles.

“You okay, Charlie?”

Charles nodded, still looking apprehensive. Tony picked him up from under the armpits and hoisted Charles high enough so that he could lie down.

“JARVIS?”

“Ready, sir,” said JARVIS.

_Tony…Tony I don’t like it…_

_I promise nothing will happen, it’s just a scan. Just lie back and let the machine do the work. Nap time. C’mon Charlie, be brave for me okay?_

_…okay…._

“Perhaps it would be better if we postponed this to another day,” said David.

Tony turned around, incredulous.

“What?”

“Charles is experiencing a high level of anxiety,” said David, “I do not think it’s – “

“I’m okay!” Charles piped up, from where he had lain himself down on the bed of the S.M.R.I. He kept looking up awkwardly into the tunnel.

“If you want out,” said Tony, “Just make your hand into a fist. JARVIS will stop everything.”

“Okay,” Charles repeated, “I – okay.”

“The last imaging done on a telepath was almost fifty years ago,” said Tony, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, _and the technology was shit back then_ _this is important, Charlie, very, very very very cool._

 _I want to meet someone like me…_ thought Charles, wistfully.

_Well, if we figure out how your telepathy works, we might be able to scan from birth._

With a whirring noise, the sides of the bed curved upwards until it formed a protective cylinder over Charles’ little body, and the bed retracted itself into the tunnel of the MRI.

“Initiating scan,” said JARVIS.

_You okay buddy?_

_…yeah. Yeah – it’s. Machine making noises…_

_That’s normal. Just deep breaths. Keep calm okay?_

_Okay…_

Tony called up the live-feed from the S.M.R.I in the space to his left, enlarging the scan with a swipe of his fingers through the air.

“Looking normal, JARVIS,” he said, “David I want you to output all audio and visual data from Charles. Everything else, convert to text – remind me to invent third sensory projectors, JARVIS, we’d make a fortune.”

“Of course, sir. Memo created.”

David obediently placed one hand over the projector’s interface, standing still and straight-backed in the middle of the lab. And it struck Tony in that moment, how very _still_ he stood, his free hand relaxed at his side, his pressed slacks running lines as straight as a ruler.

“Shall I begin output now?” asked David.

“Can you isolate what you receive from Charles?” said Tony, pulling up David’s schematics next to Charles’ imaging and running a finger from eyelevel to waist. A scroll of numbers appeared, and Tony shifted it so that he could see all the references at once.

“I think so,” said David, “I will filter my primary input sensors in the meantime, just in case.”

“Yes. Yes, do that. We’ll go for a minute, shall we? JARVIS?”

“Scanning in progress sir.”

 

Tony pulled up a wheelie-chair and straddled it. Then David began to output the world’s first human-to-computer telepathic sequence…and Tony’s lab exploded with sound and colour.

 

David hadn’t hooked himself up to one projector. He had clearly assumed one would not be enough and accessed all the interfaces in the lab It was a strange, dizzying sight, multiple scenes playing out at the same time. The clearest seemed to be the kitchen, upstairs (and there they were, David and Tony sitting across from each-other, Tony with his mug of coffee and the light streaming in, the harsh, almost too-loud chatter of the budgies). There was text too, descriptions in brackets and clumps, flickering too fast for Tony to read –

“JARVIS,” he called over the din, “JARVIS are you recording this?”

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS, and Tony fancied that even he sounded breathless.

There was a voice speaking – and it took Tony a moment to realise it was Charles’ voice, but Charles himself was not speaking at all:

_< <”…it’s so loud, David I – like echoes – I feel sick –“…>_

Tony’s eyes were going blurry with it, but he couldn’t look away, hands frozen mid-touch over something that didn’t exist.

And there was Brian, sitting at a desk. He looked taller than Tony remembered, still wearing tweed, a soft expression on his face as he looked down at them. That hadn’t changed.

“…ething different, okay Charlie?”

A voice, blurred. “Yeah!”

Brian chuckled, and the sound made Tony’s chest ache.

“…you don’t have any trouble reaching me from your room. But we’re going to try the garden today. Do you think you can do that? I’ll walk down and you stay here.”

“Okay,” and it was just a voice, but it was clear as if Brian himself was standing behind Tony’s shoulder – his easy laughter and calm, unflustered demeanour (‘Oh really that is just – seriously Tony I do not need to read about what you happened to do to some poor woman’s underwear yet you force me to read it when it is on every newsfeed I – ‘)

“ _Sir!_ ”

Tony jerked as JARVIS shifted a window in front of all the others.

“Sir, you really should take a look at David’s impulse readings.”

Tony stared.

And stared some more.

“Shit,” he said, watching the lines of code flash by in a blur of grey and blue, “ _Shit._ He’s – this all that’s coming from Charlie?”

“The database itself has increase by eight thousand percent in the last forty-seven seconds, sir.”

Tony zoomed in on the S.M.R.I feed with his left hand whilst his right scrolled past the screeds of data that David was still gathering – David, who was merely sitting still and quiet in the middle of the room.

“Increased brain activity?”

“Only compared to the control test,” said JARVIS, “More compared to the last record of an empathy mutation. We would need to run further te –“

Without warning, all the holograms turned off, plunging the lab into abrupt silence. Brian disappeared from sight without a flicker, vanishing from Tony’s fingertips as the lights came on, too bright and too white after the colours of the hologram. Tony blinked hard.

When the room slowly came back into focus, David wasn’t by the projectors anymore. He had disengaged the S.M.R.I and was helping Charles sit up – and later….later, Tony would recall the quiet in his own head, the absence of a voice that wasn’t his – but now, there was only the sound of sniffling.

“It’s okay,” David was saying; voice low, almost a coo. He had one hand on Charles’ back, rubbing circles and for some reason, the gesture made Tony’s gut clench. “It’s okay. Shhh.”

“Charles,” said Tony, voice snapping harder than he intended, “I thought I told you to yell if you wanted to stop!”

The only answer was a hiccup.

Abandoning his chair, Tony pushed David out of the way and placed a hand on Charles’ forehead, pushing the hair back from clammy skin. He was too excited, too full of anticipation, to really keep the exasperation from his mind or his voice.

“I _told you –_ “ he began.

“It was too loud,” said Charles, eyes watering and a litany of _sorrysorrysorrysorrybetternexttimesorry –_ filtering through his spoken words, “You – too loud, got dizzy. Tried shutting out but you were concentrating and – …feel sick.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” Tony demanded, “You’ve got to _listen_ when I tell you – remember, I told you, _clench your hand if you need JARVIS to stop_ – if you don’t listen to me how are we going to get anywhere? Jesus. How are you feeling now?”

“Nauseous,” David answered.

Tony whirled around.

“Okay seriously,” he said, jabbing a finger into David’s chest, “bad.”

David looked confused. Deliberately emoting confusion, because what else could he be doing?

“But he is afraid that if he opens his mouth he will – “

“What did I _just_ say?”

JARVIS interrupted.

“Sir, David’s impulse data is still increasing at an exponential rate. Shall I keep monitoring or – ?”

“Yes, we’ll run analysis later,” said Tony, distracted, “Figure out how he’s… do we know if it’s all from Charlie or…?”

“Prolonged telepathic contact seems to have an marked effect on the amount of data gathered. There are regular spikes over the last thirty hours that I can discern.”

It was then that Charles wobbled on the bed, making an aborted attempt to slide off. He looked pale and slightly green in the face; both David and Tony moved simultaneously forwards…but not quite quickly enough.

Charles only had time to bend over the edge of the mattress before he threw up.

 

:i:

 

After David met Max, Charles decided to introduce him to the rest of the animals, starting with the fish. He had named them all with Pepper, but Pepper just supplied the first name that popped into her head (Charles should know) and he knew she didn’t really even notice which fish were who (she thought they looked mostly the same).

David, on the other-hand, was _very_ interested in Charles’ fish. Charles couldn’t help the pleased warmth in his chest from bleeding over, until he was sure _everyone_ must be picking up on it.

Both he and David had their noses to the glass, David full of intent concentration.

David had a lot of intent concentration, Charles thought.

“And this one,” said Charles, pointing to the last of the ten goldfish in the tank, “Is Darwin.”

“After the man or the city?”

_They named a city after Darwin????_

_< < No. I believe that was coincidental.>> _An world map, and a quick succession of images.

 _I wanna visit Australia,_ thought Charles, as David played out Kangaroos in a flat, dry-grass field. _I want a kangaroo._

 _< < I would also like to visit Australia,>> _said David, smiling at Charles, _< < From what I know, it is rather different to New York. I would like to see the last of the Great Barrier Reef. >>_

_Ohhhhh, fish!_

“Colourful,” said Charles, looking back at Darwin and his friends in the tank. They were pretty as well; big goldfish with flowing fins and tails. He handed David the little pot of ground flakes.

“You can feed them today,” said Charles, generously.

David pushed a pleased thought in Charles’ direction, and it felt very much like the warm feeling from before. Carefully, David slid back the glass top of the tank, then sprinkled the fish food across the surface of the water. Immediately, all the fish began swimming to the top, little mouths making repeated Os as they ate their breakfast. Charles loved this bit – and JARVIS always had to remind him to stop overfeeding his fish.

“Maybe a bit more,” said Charles, when all the fish looked confused and lost and most of the speckles of food had been consumed.

David tapped the bottle with one long index finger.

They both watched as Darwin stole the biggest flake, tail swirling like an orange coloured paint-drop. David replaced the glass lid, before setting down the pot of fish flakes. He paused: there were a few stray flakes stuck to his fingertips. David gave them a lick.

“Ew!!!” Charles exclaimed, “ _David!_ ”

David didn’t look particularly put out, simply eyed the fish-food container with an appraising gaze. Charles  poked David in the side.

“…so what is it like?”

David offered him the bottle.

 

Tony stayed missing until just before dinner, an electric cloud of ideas that Charles didn’t really understand, buzzing like a hive of bees out of sight. He had taken Dummy with him, leaving Charles and David to build snowmen on the wide rooftop of Stark Tower (and eat plenty of snow – David, as it turned out, was incapable of getting brain freeze. They tried snow-with-jam, snow-with-juice, snow-with-butter and snow-with-coke) David had managed to find a down-feather jacket for Charles along with boots, mittens and pants that wouldn’t mind getting wet. David himself was still in his khaki shirt and pants.

 _We need a nose for the snowman!_ Thought Charles, letting his hands drop with a _poof_ into the soft airy cushion of his jacket. He surveyed the snowman they had built – three perfectly round balls of snow. They had found a spare beanie for a hat and two bottle-corks for the eyes.

_What do you think, David?_

_< < Perhaps an apple? >>_

_Yeah okay. I wanna give him hands too._

_< < We do not have any branches up here. Most snowmen hands are made with branches or twigs, according to my research. >> _A picture, of said snowman.

“Fiiiiine,” said Charles, drawing careful indents in the snowman with his finger instead, so that it looked as if he was wearing a jacket. After a moment of consideration, Charles also bestowed the snowman with a tie.

_< < I shall go fetch an apple. >>_

_Okay_ , said Charles, still concentrating on his creation. He decided that the snowman needed pockets, too, because everyone needed pockets. Pockets were great.

David crunched his way back into the house before appearing a moment later with a small red apple which he gave to Charles. Charles had to hold it with both hands to stop the fruit from sliding off his wet mittens.

_Up!_

David put his hands under Charles armpits and lifted him off the ground until he was at the face-height of the snowman. Charles than stuck the apple half way into the face of the topmost snow-ball until it felt firm enough not to fall. He readjusted the snowman’s beanie while he was up there.

_Okay, done now!_

_< < Yes, >>_ said David, lowering him down carefully to the ground. Then, _< < Do we need to clean it up now?>>_

Charles was already picking his way across the floor to where undisturbed snow lay. He paused, looking back, nose cheeks and ears pinked with the cold.

“No…I want to show Tony when he’s not busy.”

“Okay,” said David, and followed Charles towards the patch of smooth white snow. Charles threw himself onto the snow pile with a _whompf_ and a laugh, arms and legs splayed out. David’s eyebrows furrowed every so slightly towards the middle.

“Your hair will get wet,” he said, “Isn’t that too cold?”

Charles made arch-motions with his hands and feet, repeating them several times before sitting up carefully.

 _Snow angels!_ He said, pointing to his own imprint and then at the still-fresh patch of snow next to him, “You’ve gotta make one now.”

Obligingly, David lay down on the snow and made wiping movements with his hands and legs outstretched. When he got up, his snow angel was much bigger than Charles’. There was snow all over the back of David’s head, little white crystals clinging to his bare skin.

“I like yours,” said Charles, beaming.

“I like yours as well,” said David, smiling back.

 

“I have an idea,” said Tony, immersed in whatever was on his data-pad as he strolled out of the lift, “We’re going to try that again but with – uh. What’s going on?”

At the kitchen counter, Charles paused in his sauce-mixing, spoon in one hand, bowl in the other, and a few smears and splatters in between.

“Dinner!” said Charles, tentatively poking to see if Tony was annoyed with what had happened earlier in the lab. He was relieved to find no annoyance – just the same, thick buzzing of _what ifs_ and _maybes_ along with many, many pictures. Charles held up his bowl.

“Mint sauce,” he explained. “David is making steak for dinner.”

“Yeah,” said Tony, “I can see that. Smell that. Smells good. Shit I’m starving.”

“Oh,” said David, without even looking up, “What a pity. I presumed you would be fasting in your laboratory has you always do around this time of night. There is only enough here for two.”

“Enough for – _the fuck, David, you don’t need any food!_ ”

 

“This tastes amazing. Good work Charlie.”

“Good work, _David.”_

“Fine. Good job David.”

“JARVIS helped too!”

“Oh my god, what is this. _Yes,_ good boy, JARVIS. Give yourself a raise.”

“Thank you, sir, I will.”

 

:i:

 

On Thursday, Charles ventured down past floor seventy-two* for the first time.

It wasn’t that Charles had been banned from going downstairs _, per se_. But the incessant worry burbling from Tony’s mind whenever they left the top-floor was a constant reminder of the masses of thoughts and minds waiting on the ground. Charles could still remember the feeling of waking up to all that noise and overlapping senses, Ms Pepper’s panic making his own disorientation worse. And it was probably his imagination, but whenever he peered down at the ground, far, far below, he felt a bit queasy.

David picked up on the feeling almost right away, pausing where he was folding Charles’ pyjamas into the laundry basket. Charles had just finished brushing his teeth, and was rubbing his eyes awake by the window. (They had moved David’s charging station into Charles’ bedroom after realising that David would have to sit in an uncomfortable chair to sleep, which was just not nice.)

<< _What’s wrong? >>_

Charles blinked.

_Nothing!_

_< <….that didn’t feel the same as nothing. Are you anxious? >>_

_No._

Charles’ tummy rumbled.

“Or hungry,” said David, smiling, “I have made waffles for you.”

“WAFFLES,” said Charles, beaming.

 

They had waffles together, sitting side by side on the beanbag with big friendly plastic plates, blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. Even though David didn’t need to eat, he still liked to try things.

 _< <I’ve already checked the food,>>_ he told Charles, when Charles tried to offer him half his breakfast, _< <And I picked out all the fruit that was good. Let me know how they taste?>>_

Charles chewed enthusiastically, and concentrated on his tastebuds so that David could tell that the blueberries were really quite nice. Charles was pretty sure blueberries didn’t grow in winter, either.

It was a nice day for winter – the clouds had all dispersed in the night, leaving the sun to pour down, melting the sheet of ice on the balcony pool and slinking onto the wooden floorboards to touch their socked toes. And even though the parks were not as green as they probably would be in summer, they still looked inviting. Charles missed trees.

And with a start, he realised he was feeling homesick.

“Did you go outside, often?” asked David, watching Charles.

“Yeah,” said Charles, wistfully, “We lived far away from people so it was quiet. Only Father and mother and me and sometimes other people but not that many.”

 _< < You want to go back? >>_ asked David, flicking through a series of images that were of the Xavier Estate.

Charles thought of his bedroom, and all the old model toy cars on the shelf.

He thought of Father’s study, and the chocolate in the bottom drawer.

“Dunno,” he said, putting down his fork.

A pause.

“Why don’t we take a walk outside,” said David, head tilted very slightly to the left, “If you miss the grass.”

“Can’t,” said Charles, gulping at the very thought, _loudloudloudloudloudloud –_

David leaned forwards and patted Charles on the head, a weighted motion that smoothed his hair back from brow to nape until Charles felt less queasy.

“It’s a very interesting experience,” said David, referring to Charles’ brief flashback, “But I think your mutation will develop as you mature.”

“That’s what Father said.”

“But I think isolation may prove counterproductive in the long term…”

_But…but I don’t think I can – too many people!_

“We could do it gradually,” said David, and he was projecting a strange series of thoughts at Charles and it took him a long moment to realise that they were snippets; fragments of the past week _(‘Good night David,’ – ‘Goodnight, Charles,’; David nooo ewwww fish food – David helping Charles with his snow boots; David holding Charles up so he could feed the budgies on his own.)_

It was _comfort_.

<< _Perhaps we could use the lift. You can stop it whenever you feel uncomfortable, and we can try it once a day and see if you improve. >>_

_…..can we just go a little bit down today…and not too much?_

_< < of course. >>_

_…okay then._

Charles speared the last strawberry then offered it to David.

“It will be wasted on me,” said David.

“Not waste,” Charles insisted, “ _taste._ ”

“Alright. I suppose it is more accurate to accumulate more data, rather than less.”

David accepted the strawberry, and Charles watched him chew it with great fascination.

“Do you have to go to the toilet too?”

David nodded. “But much more efficiently.”

“Oh,” said Charles, wrinkling his nose and wondering what robot poop would look like.

He was offered a picture of something that looked remarkably like chocolate mousse; very watered down chocolate mousse.

“Ew,” he said.

_< < Shall we go? >>_

Charles dropped his fork.

_Now?!_

_< < Why not now? >>_ asked David, curiously.

Charles couldn’t come up with a good answer, and obediently gave David his cutlery, and watched as David washed it in the sink and put it in the rack to dry. In no time at all, David was done.

“Come on,” said David, bending down and holding out his arms, “Don’t you want to see if you can go outside soon?”

Charles let himself be picked up, wrapping his arms around David’s neck automatically. David was a nice person to be held by – he had a very steady walk, didn’t forget that Charles was there and accidentally let him drop. Plus, he was tall and Charles liked the change in perspective. Charles hoped he would be just as tall when he grew up.

They were almost at the lift with JARVIS spoke up from the ceiling.

“David,” said JARVIS politely (JARVIS was always polite, even when Tony was being really loud and angry), “What are you doing?”

“I am walking into the lift,” said David, walking into the lift which dinged open conveniently as they got close enough. The door slid half closed, then paused, and slid open again. Then slid half closed – and open again.

“Is it broken?” asked Charles.

“Where are you intending to go?” asked JARVIS.

“Down,” said David, “We are, after all, on the top floor.”

The lift doors made a weird, shuddering sort of motion. Maybe it _was_ broken and Charles wouldn’t have to do this today!

“We should get Tony to fix it….” said Charles.

The lift doors slid shut, and David gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Not to worry, I have fixed the problem.”

“You have not fixed the problem,” JARVIS interrupted from the lift speakers as they slid smoothly downwards, “Tell me where you intend to go, David Unit.”

“We have used this lift every day for the past five days – what is your sudden concern?”

“You were both silent for a prolonged period of time,” said JARVIS, “I assumed I was not privy to the conversation. Where are you intending to go, David?”

“I’m taking Charles downstairs.”

“You are not authorised to go below the private quarters of – “

“False.”

“Sir has not given you permission to take Charles outside of the designated living areas, I will be forced to inform him of your transgression.”

“No you won’t,” said David.

“I beg your pardon, David?”

“You will tell sir because you want to tell sir, because telling sir is the most action you can take.”

“David unit, you will explain yourself _now._ ”

The lift stopped.

Charles looked worriedly from David to the wall of the lift and back again.

“Are you sure the lift is okay?” he asked. He could feel Tony’s presence when he looked for him, clear as a bell, but other than that, everything was fairly quiet. The lift must have been going slower than he thought it did.

The lift started moving again.

“I believe JARVIS may be the one malfunctioning,” David explained, “We will get Tony to have a look into it.”

“I am functioning at a hundred precent,” snapped JARVIS.

Charles winced, bracing himself for any barrage of noise – but when it didn’t come; he let out a little sigh of relief. He was torn between reaching outwards and feeling for any potential minds, and tucking himself as close as possible to the quiet order of David’s mind, safe.

 _< < Are you alright? >>_ asked David.

 _…yeah,_ said Charles, concentrating on David very hard.

The lift kept moving.

“David you cannot take Charles below the fiftieth level – sir has calculated that if –“

“We are conducting an experiment,” said David, “Please be quiet.”

“You are working on incomplete data,” said JARVIS, “Please abort now. You will harm Charles.”

“I’m okay,” said Charles.

 “Sir has chosen not to take Charles this close to the ground,” said JARVIS, “At his former residence, the average radius of the effective buffer zone is barely maintained at –“

“Mute,” said David.

“Permission _denied._ ” said JARVIS sharply, and he did sound annoyed now. If he was Pepper, Charles imagined he would have very pointy shoes indeed.

“Oh,” said David, sounding apologetic. His eyes were wide. “That’s too bad.”

The lift was still moving.

_< < Still feeling alright? >>_

_Yes…how close?_

_< < forty floors to go. Shall we keep going? >>_

Charles took a deep breath.  ( _“Very good, Charlie! I’m so impressed! Oh I’m so proud of you, this is marvellous. Shall we try it again but further, this time? I will read poem and you can tell me what it’s about.”_ )

 _Yes,_ thought Charles determinedly.

The lift kept moving.

Charles wished there were windows, so he could see outside.

_< < Like this? >>_

And suddenly he _was_ looking outside – but not in the way he was used to (when he accidentally stumbled into someone’s thoughts; blurry vision when his Father took off his glasses; too-white light when his mother had been drinking the night before), rather, it was like his eyes could take in more things at once. It was what David saw, he realised, the city scape stretching out in every direction, the sky an endless dome.

 _< < The camera feeds external to this building, >>_ said David.

Charles felt buoyed, too excited to speak or think or – a bird flew by, and he blinked, moving to shield his face automatically. Then he laughed at his own thumping heart.

 _You’re so awesome, David,_ he said, still wrapped around the wide, wide expanse inside his head – inside David’s head. He could see all the roads, all the cars, little people wandering about, and his vision was sharper than any normal person’s, Charles was sure, and he reached out to the person in the red coat as they drew nearer, closer to the ground, walking, a dog on a leash it was a brown puppy –

 

The noise hit him as soon as he opened up, and Charles let out a cry of pain and surprise. The lift jolted to a halt, the sharp motion abrupt as the thoughts of everyone in the immediate vicinity hooked onto Charles and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t find David in the mess of sound, pictures, thoughts, someone with a scraped knee on the gravel path and fuck he was going to be late for his meeting why weren’t there any goddamn taxis around when hot coffee on his hand –

_< < BABY UNIT >>_

Charles latched on, thinking _DavidDavidDavid._ And then as abruptly as it had happened, he was sucked back into a vacuum, ears and head ringing. He could see out of his own eyes again, David very close. A hand on Charles’ face. It was a warm hand.

“…you will cease this _at once_ and return Charles to the penthouse, David!”

 _< < CHARLES >>_ David projected again, sharp and focused and Charles flinched back.

“Sorry,” he managed, then coughed at the weird taste on his tongue, wet on his upper lip and he raised a hand to wipe it away. David stopped him at the wrist, a tissue appearing out of nowhere.

Distantly, Charles noticed that the lift was moving again.

David dabbed the tissue at Charles’ face, gently pressing it beneath his nose. It came away stained with red.

“Oh,” said Charles, sniffling – then coughing at the taste of blood.

_< < I am sorry I did not stop the lift sooner,>> said David, << You made no indication of discomfort until that moment.>>_

_It’s okay, said Charles,_ remembering the breath taking height _, I think – I’m okay. Which level were we on? Did we make it to the ground????_

Carefully, David wiped Charles’ lip clean of blood and tucked the tissue into his pocket just as the lift door opened with a soft _swish._

_< < Nearly Level Forty.>>_

“I have informed Sir of the incident,” said JARVIS, “You are both to stay here until he arrives. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” said David.

Charles’ head was still ringing, and after the pressing rush of thoughts and minds all around…the now-familiar living room was too quiet, buzzing in the space between Charles’ ears. He tucked himself more securely into David’s shoulder, and breathed in the comforting smell of clean shirt and something that reminded Charles of Tony’s lab. David was patting him again, slow and steady strokes down the length of Charles’ back as he carried him over to the beanbag, quietly projecting the scent of waffles they had eaten that morning.

_< < Have you had such adverse reactions before? >>_

_Yeah_ , said Charles, _Mother wanted to get me new clothes but it was too loud so I had to stay at home._

_< < Your Mother did not know what would happen? >>_

_Mother didn’t like the mess. Got my sleeve dirty._

He bent down and deposited Charles in the beanbag, all of the beans rushing to create a nesting dip. Reluctantly, Charles let go of David’s shirt.

“I’ll make you something nice to drink,” said David, straightening, “Lie down and rest for a little while. You did very well today.”

 _But not the ground…_ thought Charles, disappointment heavy his stomach, squeezing tight.

 _< < I believe the difference is negligible,>>_ said David, taking Charles’ favourite Captain America mug out of the cabinet, _< < After all, the population density at three hundred meters, in this particular area, is only twenty percent less than that at ground level.>>_

“But still too loud,” said Charles, rubbing his eyes. He sniffed, but gingerly – and was relieved when his nosebleed seemed to have stopped for good. Not a bad one, then.

“Yes,” said David, “But prior to that moment, you were doing well.”

“I wanna try again,” said Charles, looking at his feet. “Today.”

“That would be inadvisable,” said JARVIS, disapproval practically dripping down the walls and Charles looked up with a guilty start. It was easy to forget about JARVIS; he had no mind for Charles to feel. Speaking of which….

“Where’s Max?” said Charles, looking around. “Max!”

At the kitchen, David paused as Charles made to get up.

“Stay sitting, please,” said David.

“Have you seen Max?”

“…I put him to sleep because he was being very disruptive.”

“You turned him off?!” cried Charles, horrified – but before David could answer, Tony came bursting out of the elevator.

“I WILL TURN _YOU_ _OFF_ ALRIGHT!” he said, pointing at David with a shaking index finger. David froze, mug in one hand, spoon in the other, an expression of mild apology on his face. “WHAT WAS THE BIG IDEA?”

David tilted his head.

“I am not sure I understand what you – “

Tony held up his palm.

“Shut up. Just. Stay still. Deal with you later.”

In three quick steps, Tony crossed the room and Charles was suddenly breathing thing the smell of machine oil, sweat and something slightly burnt as Tony crushed him tight in a hug. He had clearly been working on something in the lab because Tony was wearing a sleeveless top and his arms and hands were smeared with something black and smelly. He still had one glove on, and there were a pair of goggles on his head that was digging into Charles’ cheek uncomfortably.

Then he was wrenched away as Tony held him at arms length, half suspended off the beanbag.

“You alright? Talk to me. JARVIS said you had a nose-bleed. Does it hurt? Do you need the hospital? Tell me you don’t need the hospital. _What happened?_ Whatever happened, don’t do it again, you hear? Fuck. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

It took a moment for Charles to wade out of the sharp relief and panic that was pouring of Tony in waves.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he said, projecting ‘fine’ as hard as he could.

Tony plonked him back onto the beanbag and slapped his un-gloved hand onto Charles’ forehead. Charles winced – there were sure to be big black smears of whatever-it-was on his face now. Sure enough, when Tony patted his cheek, Charles could feel the oil slime on his skin. Yuck.

“Yuck,” he said, trying to wipe it off his face and getting it onto his hand instead, “Was just trying to see if I could get to the ground.”

“Why would you do that?” Tony demanded, voice very loud in both in and out of Charles’ head. “Don’t you remember what happened last time? Why didn’t you ask me first? Don’t do it again. Don’t…”

Tony whirled around.

“…This was _your_ idea, wasn’t it?”

David blinked. He opened his mouth –

“No!” squeaked Charles, panic welling up (What if Tony decided to turn David off as well? Charles couldn’t let that happen.) “No! I was my idea!”

Tony’s head snapped around and he gave Charles a very squinty, shrewd sort look.

“….right,” he repeated, doubtfully. “JARVIS?”

“I cannot verify, sir. They must have been communicating telepathically.”

“Hmm,” said Tony. “David, is this true?”

“….” said David.

Charles tugged on Tony’s glove until Tony stopped glaring and David and looked at him instead. Charles blinked and tried to open his eyes as wide as they would go.

“Don’t you believe me?” he said.

There was another long pause. And Charles felt it the moment Tony caved, the doubt flickering to the back of his mind.

“…yeah, of course I do, Charlie,” he said, “You just – don’t do that again, okay? Jesus fuck – ”

“Language, sir,” said JARVIS.

“We got so close!” Charles protested, “David said I got to floor 40!”

“Yes, JARVIS told me too,” said Tony, and he made a strange aborted movement with his hands. Charles eyed them speculatively. “You _sure_ you feel okay? Do you need some chocolate or ice-cream or something?”

“No,” said Charles. Then, “I mean, yes please.”

Tony still looked utterly unimpressed.

Charles scooted forwards on the beanbag and gave Tony a long hug, even though Tony was in a smelly shirt. After a moment, Tony slung one arm around his back and squeezed. His heart was going _th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump._

 _< < Your tea is getting cold. >> _said David, who was still standing at the kitchen. He looked a little peeved.

 _Sorrryyyy,_ said Charles.

“I don’t want you to do this again. Not today,” said Tony: _god so scared, thought you’d pass out again promised Brian no too risky can’t –_

“Tomorrow?” Charles prodded, “I wanna see if I can go outside!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“….”

“…well…” said Tony, looking conflicted.

“ _Pleeeeaaaase?_ ”

 

:i:

 

_The next morning._

 

:i:

 

 

“Sir…” said David, politely.

“No,” said Tony.

“Perhaps I should hold him. You will get tired.”

“Fuck you, David.”

“…I can stand?”

“Proximity helps with this process,” said David, undeterred by the insult.

“You told me he just needs a mind to concentrate on and block everything else out for him. I think my mind will work just as well as yours. Better, actually, now that I think about it. Definitely better.”

“That was merely a hypothesis. Surely it is better to keep the variables constant in this instance.”

“How about you stay here and clean the toilets? All the toilets.”

Charles had had enough. He wriggled in Tony’s arms.

“Can we go _nowwww_ ,” he whined.

“Yes, yes, sorry,” said Tony, hoisting Charles more securely on his hip and striding towards the elevator. David followed.

_< < Will it be confusing, having the two of us with you? >>_

_Dunno_ , said Charles, as the lift doors slid open with JARVIS’ blessing. _Tony is projecting._

“Anytime it gets too loud – “ Tony was saying.

Charles nodded, impatiently.

Tony pressed his palm against the smooth elevator walls. And they began descending.

 

Tony was all nerves and sharp edged focus – eyes fixed on Charles’ face, searching (Charles knew) for any sign of discomfort. He was indeed thinking so loudly that Charles felt as if Tony was inside his own head, an incessant flow of thoughts and familiar sensations quite unlike the quiet clean thoughts that David offered him.

_< < Do you want to look outside again? >>_

_Yes but I wanna concentrate…talk to me?_

_< < of course. What about? >>_

_Do you like Tony?_

_< < Define ‘like’. >>_

_Do you think you will be friends?_

_< < do you think I am capable of making friends? >>_

Charles frowned.

_You’re MY friend!....right?_

A cycling of the past week; of reading books together in the late winter sunshine, making lunch and eating with their hands – David trying all the different spices in the kitchen.

_< < Yes >>_

Charles beamed.

Tony jiggled him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, concern warm like a blanket, “Do we need to take a break? Pause? Go back up?”

“I’m okay,” said Charles, turning to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. There, much more comfortable. “How many levels?”

“Forty to go, sir.”

“Okay,” said Charles.

“Doing well,” said Tony, who at some point had pulled up a hologram from the ceiling. It seemed to be a picture of two brains, with colours frizzing and spiking at odd intervals.

_Is that my brain?_

_< < Yes. The other is Tony’s. >>_

_Mine is more colourful._

_< < Yes, it is. It is a more advanced brain. >>_

_What does your brain look like, David?_

And there it was, parts too tiny to see all at once, and something that looked distinctly liquidly. Charles sqinted.

 _Coooool,_ he said.

“Level twenty five,” said JARVIS.

 _LEVEL TWENTY FIVE!!!!!!_ said Charles.

Tony was patting his back again. Charles wondered if it was more of his own nerves than for Charles’ benefit because Tony was very, very nervous. Charles patted Tony on the back with the hand that wasn’t holding onto Tony’s shoulder.

“Nearly there, buddy,” Tony was muttering over and over (he had started to pace in a circle, forcing David into a corner to avoid being bumped into), “Nearly there. Doing so well. Nearly there.”

“Level fifteen,” said JARVIS – and Charles couldn’t curb his own excitement, his heart speeding up at the prospect of going outside _properly_ for the first time, he could go to museums! He could go grocery shopping and try all the sweets himself, he could maybe go for a car ride - !

 _< < Concentrate on me, >>_ said David, dropping a constant stream of observations like a line of text scrolling across the page, quiet and not too loud, _< < Remember to concentrate. >>_

 _Okay,_ said Charles, _keep talking to me?_

 _< < of course. Do _you _like Tony? >>_

_Yeah!_

_< < Do you want to be his friend as well? Or do you want him to be your father? >>_

_… I don’t know…_

_< < I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. >>_

_No,_ said Charles _, I’m Okay. I don’t think Tony wanted children._

_< < What makes you say that? >>_

_I heard it._

_< < Oh. But he made me. >>_

 

Charles didn’t even notice the door sliding open until Tony gave a whoop of triumph and everything as he shot out of the lift with Charles hanging on.

“Oh!” said an unfamiliar voice, “Mister Stark! And – Is that –“ _OH MY GOD IT’S THE KID IT’S THE BABY he never comes down why is he here today oh my god wait until Brandon hears about this oh my god oh my god he’s so cuuuuuute who is that tall guy never seen him around before does he work here, got uniform on maybe the janitor what is the janitor doing in Mister Stark’s private lift maybe an engineer then installing something oh my god it’s the baby Xavier awwww –_

“Hi sweetheart,” said Tony, looking from Charles to the young receptionist and then back again, “I’m gonna need you to just. Go away for half an hour, okay?”

She looked confused.

“Sir?”

“Go take a break. Break time! Coffee run! Go away.”

She was getting up, grabbing a bag from under the desk and looking supremely confused.

“Uh – okay, would you like me to get you anything, Mister Stark –“

Tony waved his hand and almost dropped Charles.

“Nah.”

_< < Are you still feeling alright? >>_

_Yeah._

The receptionist left, heels clattering on the polished marble floor. She was still staring curiously at Charles, so Charles gave her a wave. She grinned so widely that he could see all her teeth – and then she was gone, through the door and out onto the street.

_The street._

“Charlie?”

There were so many people through the glass – and Charles could feel all of them, the presence of their minds like pinpricks of light. But the headache didn’t come; and nor did the rush of noise, the sense of claustrophobia.

Tony closed his hand around Charles’ own and it was only then that Charles realised he had been gripping Tony’s shirt into a tight little ball.

“You good?”

Charles nodded, eyes still wide with wonder.

“Do you want to go back up?”

Charles shook his head.

“Okay. Okay.” He let out a long sigh of relief.

“Floor,” said Charles.

“Floor?”

Charles pointed. Then wriggled.

Tony set him down on the floor.

( _…amazing, going to have to rework the theories it’s clearly an inherent shielding ability which makes sense considering what Bri was saying I wonder if it will develop further more tests god I wish Bri was here I wish…_ )

_< < Interesting. >>_

_David?_

_< < Yes? >>_

_Thank you._

:i:

 

The music cut out abruptly.

Tony paused.

“JARVIS? Music?”

“You have visitors, sir.”

“ _BUSY!_ ”

There was the sound of running feet, and suddenly Charles was peering at tony, upside down. Hold on no, it was tony that was upside down.

“We made you lunch!” said Charles, beaming at him, “David and me.”

“Oh god,” said Tony, rolling out from underneath the car. He could see a plate of something in David’s hands. “Is it poisoned?”

“NO!” said Charles, looked highly offended.

“Yes,” said David, at the same time.

Tony glared at him.

“David is lying, sir,” said JARVIS.

Tony pushed himself across the floor, still lying on the skateboard until he was near his work-bench. Then he got up with a groan and wiped both hands on his jeans.

David set the tray down on the table as Charles scrambled up on the seat next to Tony, looking for all the world like an over-eager rabbit, eyes flickering from the food to Tony’s face, back to the food and back to Tony’s face.

“JARVIS said you liked hamburgers best,” said Charles, pointing to the burger on the plate, “We we made you one!”

“Wow,” said Tony, eyeing the food, “Uh – thanks kiddo.”

There was a burger the size of Tony’s head sitting on a large white plate. Judging by the sauce dribbling down the side of the bun, it was still hot, a thick piece of beef surrounded by what looked like every kind of vegetable in the fridge. Next to the sandwich was a mountain of salad as well as thick potato wedges. There was a tall glass of sweating orange juice.

“Please tell me there is vodka in that,” said Tony, sitting down.

 “Vod...kah?” said Charles.

“Would you like me to fetch some?” asked David, gesturing at the lab door.

“No,” said JARVIS.

Tony hadn’t realised he was hungry until the food appeared. But when he reached to pick up the burger, Charles grabbed his arm.

“You gotta wash your hands!” he said, eyes very wide as only a scandalised baby could be.

“Uh, actually – “

“Lab rules! You said!”

“You did,” David agreed, unhelpfully.

“Fine.” said Tony, getting up again and stomping all the way to the sink in the corner. Dummy made an inquisitive whirring sound and reached for the tap.

“Uh-uh!” said Tony, “I can do that myself, thanks. Yeah, go clean up.”

He washed rinsed his hands under Charles’ and David’s watchful eye before returning to the table and sitting back down on the stool.

“Am I allowed to eat now?”

Charles pushed the tray towards him.

“JARVIS said you like mustard. So we put lots in.”

“What _hasn’t_ JARVIS been saying,” Tony muttered, but he picked up the burger and took a giant bite (just to see Charles flush with delight, pleased that his lunch was so well received). Tony chewed with exaggerated vigour, made loud _Mhhhmmm_ sounds and finished the burger in under ten bites. He had to thump his own chest hard when a particularly large swallow got stuck in his throat.

“Yummy?” asked Charles.

“Yeah, really good,” said Tony, coughing. “Okay, back to – “

“You haven’t finished your salad,” said David, pointedly.

“There was a salad IN the burger!” Tony protested.

“You gotta eat your greens,” said Charles, “I put French dressing on it.”

“Uh, I’m allergic to France.”

“No you’re not,” said Charles, “You have French wine in your kitchen.”

“How – what have you been doing in my – what – ”

Both David and Charles stared at him.

Tony picked up the fork under Charles’ watchful gaze and ate the potato wedges one by one.

“Greens,” Charles insisted, when Tony made to put the fork down again.

“I’m full,” said Tony.

“You don’t like my salad?” said Charles forlornly, poking at a cherry tomato.

 

Tony ate the salad.

 

:i:

 

“Did it work?” asked Pepper, when they returned upstairs with the cutlery and tray. “Oh. Oh I can see that it did.”

“He said he liked the salad!” said Charles, triumphantly as David began washing the dirty plate and utensils, “He said it was the best salad ever.”

Pepper smirked.

“I bet he did.”

“Yeah,” said Charles, seemingly oblivious.

“You should do this more often. He never eats lunch when I call him.”

“Really?” said Charles, horrified.

“Yes,” said Pepper, “He ignores us. I’m afraid it’s up to you.”

 

:i:

_Six Months later_

:i:

 

They got home just before dark, all four of them so exhausted from the day’s events that Tony was fairly sure that no child had seen such a great sugar-crash. That was, until he pulled out the present.

“ _KITTY,_ ” exclaimed Charles in a rare, high-pitched screech that was all the louder for the way it resonated in everyone’s head. Everyone except David winced, visibly. Excitement, undiluted and light-headed in its childish pleasure, made Tony feel like he had suddenly taken too deep a breath, warmth bleeding around the edges of the emotion.

“ _Kitty!_ ”  
  
Arms outstretched, Charles bolted out of David’s arms (where the android had been attempting to dry Charles’ hair with a towel) and half threw himself onto the floor in front of the cat carrier. David’s put-out expression was highly satisfying.  
  
Before Tony could gloat properly, however, Pepper said: “You got him _another_ pet?” – in a tone of voice that took in the large bird cage near the wall, the fish-tank and Max, who was sitting on the beanbag and barking with robotic joy at all the noise in the room. It was a tone of voice that may or may not have included David in the ‘pets’ category.

“I was right about the Zoo, wasn’t I?” said Tony, crossing his arms, “Hands up who had fun today at the zoo!”

Charles was flat on his stomach, peering through the door of the cat carrier. At Tony’s words however, he dutifully rolled over and stuck his hand into the air. After a moment’s hesitation (and probably telepathic conversation), David also raised his hand. Tony grinned. Pepper sighed, and proceeded to pour herself a glass of juice from the fridge without comment.

“I’m always right,” said Tony, “About everything.”

“Mmhm,” said Pepper, over the rim of her glass.

“Can we open it?” said Charles, eyes very big, “can we let him out Tony pleeeease can we – “

“Yeah,” said Tony, unable to help the grin on his face.

“No,” said Pepper, “the birds, Tony!”

“JARVIS said this one wouldn’t chase birds, relax.”

“But – “

David opened the latch.

Charles went very still, looking as if he was holding his breath, eyes big as saucers. Several long moments ticked by and nothing happened except a scratching sound at the back of the cat carrier.

“I think he’s scared,” Charles whispered, peering.

“Are you talking to the cat?” asked Tony, suddenly intrigued, “With your brain?”

_Not really talking…kitty doesn’t know words._

“Right,” said Tony, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “But communicating?”

_Sort of._

Charles glanced at David, and David glanced at Charles. Then David picked up the cat carrier with both hands and tilted it until the kitten slid out with a mew of protest, straight into Charles’ lap.

Charles stared at the kitten, who stared back. It was mostly white, with black markings around the face and the paws, a ragdoll kitten, which apparently was the ideal sort of cat for children. And dogs. And, Tony assumed, one android. Charles was vibrating where he sat; hands cupped around the kitten, not quite touching, and they stared almost nose-to-nose. The kitten’s ears twitched.

A full minute went by in absolute silence.

Tony was about to intervene (or order David to output whatever kind of conversation Charles was having telepathically with a _cat_ ) when Charles said, very primly:

“His name is Robert.”

A pause.

“ _Robert?_ ” said Tony, incredulous, “I thought his name was Kitty.”

Both David and Charles shot him a rather unimpressed sort of look.

“Robert is a boy,” said Charles, gathering the kitten into his arms. The kitten – Robert – let him do so without any fuss, tail waving as it flopped rather bonelessly in the crook of Charles’ elbow. It started to purr, a rather loud sound for such a small body.

Pepper had abandoned her glass.

“I suppose it is rather sweet,” she said, expression softening.

“But why _Robert?_ ” said Tony, perplexed. “Why not Ripper? Or _Rex_. I could make him attack-fangs – ”

“No,” said Pepper, flatly.

“Robbie doesn’t want to attack anyone,” said Charles, “But he wants food. And something warm to sleep in.”

Robert the kitten purred louder, and blinked at them all with big blue eyes that matched Charles’ own with an eerie similarly.

“How old is he?” asked Charles out loud.

“Nearly eight weeks old, sir,” said JARVIS helpfully, “Robert has full motor control and has been weaned.”

David, ever curious, poked Robert on the nose with one long index finger. The kitten mewed, then promptly began licking David’s finger (much to David’s obvious fascination.) Charles was beaming so widely that tony thought he might have strained something, but it was hard to feel anything except brim-full of content when Charles was leaking affection and childish pleasure all over the room.

It was a nice sort of emotion, warm like good whiskey in the bottom of your chest. And Tony realised, with a start, that he couldn’t remember the last time things were so uncomplicatedly serene.

 

 

As it turned out, Robert the Kitten was a monster.

For one thing, he ate a lot of food – which Tony suspected Charles was giving him every time the thing felt vaguely hungry. Charles had no sense of discipline whatsoever, and would insist that Robert was _starving he’s so hungry why can’t he have some of this salmon too?_ So despite JARVIS and David’s best attempts at a healthy cat diet, Robert grew and grew, from being able to fit in the pocket of Charles’ favourite hoodie to being almost as big as his torso a year later. Charles himself never seem to grow any bigger, despite Tony’s efforts at feeding him Healthy American Food.

But even when Robert the Kitten graduated and became Robert the Cat, Charles still insisted on carrying him around at every opportunity (much to Max’s obvious consternation).

Tony paused in his work as Charles appeared at the top of the stairs, making his way down with Robert in his arms. David followed close behind, two plates balanced on one arm while the other hovered near Charles shoulder in case he were to be overbalanced by cat-weight and go tumbling down the remaining steps. The lab door slid open automatically and Dummy whirred in excitement, abandoning the dirty smoothie maker in the corner of the workshop and wheeling over.

“Hi Dummy!” said Charles, then, holding Robert up, “Robbie. Robbie say hi.”

Robert the Cat/Kitten mewed and batted Dummy with one paw, before yawning and resting his head back onto Charles’ shoulder.

David set the plates down in front of Tony, clearing aside the clutter of mugs and tablets to make space.

“Lunch is served,” he said, laying down the utensils with a flourish.

“Uh,” said Tony, “Busy.”

“It’s nearly _twooo_ ,” said Charles, appearing at Tony’s other elbow. “We waited ‘cause JARVIS said you were working but I’m hungry now.”

Tony wanted to bang his head on his desk, but he squashed the reflexive irritation in the attempt to quell it before it upset Charles. Instead, he said:

“Why didn’t you eat first then?”

“We were waiting for you,” said Charles.

“I thought Pepper said your lunch time was at twelve thirty.”

“But we wanted to wait for you@”

“David this is your fault.”

David looked politely confused.

“Pepper said a family eats meals together.” _So there._

“Charles salted the chips for you,” said David, unhelpfully.

“And stirred the gravy,” said Charles.

“And stirred the gravy,” David agreed.

“And made the salad dressing,” said Charles.

“It is an exemplary example of Cesar dressing,” said JARVIS.

“Meow,” said Robert and wriggled out of Charles arms to jump onto Tony’s work-bench.

“Ah-ah- _ah_!” said Tony, dropping his pen so he could shoo an overly fluffy animal off his schematics, “ _Off._ Bad. Off the table!”

David grabbed Robert around the middle and put him onto the floor, where he promptly wound his way over to sit on Charles’ shoes.

Tony sighed.

 

:i:

 

The first time Charles calls Tony ‘dad,’ it was a Tuesday afternoon.

Tony was elbow deep in an engine when JARVIS turned down the music over the speakers. Tony was about to tell him off, annoyed – when there was a clatter of excitement and footsteps before Charles came running down the stairs and into the workshop. He nearly banged his head against the glass door, literally vibrating with excitement. A second later, David appeared, as he always did. Charles’ sneakers made squeaking noises as he ran across the lab to Tony, and as he rounded the edge of a desk, half tripping over a skateboard left on the floor, Tony could see that Charles had dirt all over his knees and elbows, a streak of mud on his face and grass stains on his t-shirt.

“Look!” he said, skidding to a halt in front of Tony and the car. He thrust out his hands so Tony could see the ceramic pot clutched between grubbing fingers. It was a strawberry plant, green and delicate. And there were four small green strawberries visible between the leaves. Charles turned the pot, holding it higher for Tony’s inspection. Tony set down the laser cutter and flipped back the protective visor in front of his face.

“Look, _look_ the first ones! I checked them yesterday and there were none and now there are six but they’re still small David says we will be able to eat them soon because they go red really fast probably before the weekend and there’s gonna be more and we can make strawberry ice-cream maybe – !”

“I can only see four,” said Tony, biting back a grin.

“There are _six_ ,” said Charles, huffing indignantly, turning the pot again in an attempt to prove his point. The strawberries were light green, and barely the size of Tony’s thumb. “There’s more in the green house but I just got this one to show you ‘cause it’s in the smallest pot.”

“There are currently twenty-five visible strawberries,” David reported.

“Wow. And are they all this tiny?”

“They’re gonna grow!”

“Yeah?” said Tony, “If they grow as fast as you, we’ll never get any strawberry ice-cream.”

“What!” said Charles, bristling, “I’m growing!”

“I can’t see where all the food is going,” said Tony. “The only growing thing in this house is Robbie’s stomach.”

“I’m taller.”

“Maybe after blow drying your hair.”

_Taller!_

“You wish, buddy.”

Charles frowned, looking from his strawberry plant to Tony and back again.

“I’m gonna go feed my other plants,” he said.

“Why don’t you just buy them from the supermarket?”

“’Cause these are organic,” said Charles, “Pepper showed me a book.”

“Yeah, and who built the greenhouse for you?”

“David,” said Charles, promptly.

David looked very please with himself.

“Oh. I see how it is,” said Tony, “Maybe David can finish building your new tree house then, I’ll just sit back and – “

 _Noooo,_ Charles protested, throwing one free arm around Tony’s leg, _You said you’d make me a slide!_

“We’ll see. Are you going to remember to let JARVIS know you’re coming down here before you burst in?” Tony gestured at the half disembowelled engine.

Charles let go obediently.

“Yes,” he said, looking contrite “Sorry.”

“Because I hate being interrupted, right?”

“Yes,” said Charles. “But are you gonna come up for lunch?”

“If I finish this,” said Tony, “The sooner I finish…”  
  
“Okay!”

And in that wordless synchronisation that Tony has become accustomed to, David took the pot plant from Charles as the latter made a dash for the door.

“No running in the lab!” called Tony.

But Charles was already at the door and merely said, _’Kay dad!_ and disappeared out of sight, David following sedately with the strawberry.

 

There was a loud _clang_ as Tony dropped the laser-cutter.

_Dad._

It was so natural that, afterwards, he couldn’t even remember whether Charles had said the word out loud or merely in his head. It was almost like every other time Charles had though of him or referred to him, there was nothing out of place or sudden about the word except there _was_.

It felt as if someone had thrown cold water over his head, the word making Tony cold all over with an emotion he couldn’t identify. It was like panic; numbing the ends of his fingers like static noise.

_‘Kay dad._

Tony stood there for a long, long time.

 

:i:

 

Charles didn’t call Tony ‘dad’ again.

 

:i:

 

Sometimes, David was so quiet that Charles thought he could stay wrapped up in their conversations forever, tucked in the warmth of company inside his own head while the world that was once too loud to touch fell soft and not-so-scary into the background; sharp words and sensations dulled down to murmurings, like rain on the rooftop – always there but easily forgotten.

It wasn’t quite the same as Tony, who constantly worried and fretted over every interaction with Charles, even though his thoughts – the ones beneath the loud, run on sentences – were very comforting indeed, steady in its conviction that _he loved Charles a lot and he missed Bri_ and the two things were different but very much the same. There was so much doubt and sharp words sometimes that Charles retreated back to David’s thoughts instead. And sometimes, Tony’s thoughts were just like Mothers’ – _they’ll ask questions if…no, better keep it off the registry, it’ll be one more hurdle for him later, keep it quiet, best for now…people will ask questions, they’ll always ask questions –_

David played Charles music inside their heads while it rained outside; Bach partitas for the light showers and Erik Satie for the storms. If they were tired, David showed him galaxy maps and they traced the star patterns for hours on end.

Tony was often not at home.

When he _was_ home, he was usually in the lab or one of his workshops further down the tower, and Charles liked to sit in the same room. Sometimes Tony would tell him to go play somewhere else, but if Charles was quiet, he was usually allowed to take his ‘lessons’ in the workshop.

Today, Tony was working on a special kind of rifle that required lots of music and concentration. Three hours prior he had sat Charles down amidst all the holographic projectors and set the ‘homework task’ for that afternoon.

“You uh, remodel the top ten floors of Stark Tower,” he said, pulling out the 3D blueprints and blowing them up so that Stark Tower was roughly the same height as Charles when Charles stood up too. JARVIS helpfully colour coded all the furniture.

“Extra points for creativity,” said Tony, “Go, go, go. David, supervise.”

 

Charles loved playing with holograms – it was like a much better version of building blocks. Three hours later, with the help of David, Charles had managed to install a giant aquarium by cutting giant holes in the middle of all the floors.

_Is it big enough for a shark? I want a shark…_

_< < It is _just _big enough >>_ said David, spinning the diagram around, << _But the shark wouldn’t be very happy in such a cramped environment. >>_

 _Oh,_ said Charles, disappointed. Then he brightened again, _But we can have sting rays!_

Dutifully, David inserted a few holographic stingrays into the aquarium. The top of it stopped at Charles’ floor, so he could feed all the fish. And maybe even swim with them. Maybe. Charles frowned at the 3D building, wriggling his fingers so the holographic water splashed. He wondered if David knew how to swim, and thought about the warm sun outside and the balcony pool that had only been dipped in by toes.

David was watching him from where he sat, cross-legged and straight backed on the floor.

 _< < I could teach you how to swim >> _he said, _ << though perhaps the main pool would be better than the one on your balcony. >>_

Charles used his hands to navigate to the pool on the main lip of the tower.

 _But there’s too much water in this one,_ he said, eyeing the blue glow of the holographic water apprehensively, _Can’t we start with a small pool?_

 _< < They are about the same depth >>_ said David. Then; _< < would you feel better if it was Tony teaching you? >>_

Charles shrugged and went to sit in David’s lap (the floor was cold and hard and made his bottom hurt if he sat there for too long. David had an android bottom so he didn’t count.) He glanced across the workshop where the music

_I think Tony is busy._

_< < True >> _agreed David. He wrapped one arm around Charles’ waist so he could settle himself more comfortably, and pulled the hologram closer to both of them, shrinking it so that they could see the whole thing from where they sat.

Upstairs, Robbie woke from a nap.

 _He’s wondering where we are,_ said Charles.  
  
 _< < Do you want me to go fetch him? >>_

It wasn’t like Robert didn’t have a mind – it was more that his thoughts were not the same as people. Or goldfish, for that matter. It was all very visual; smells and pictures and no words or sentences at all. Charles tried his best to project the number of floors down they were. After a long moment, Robert decided to sleep in another patch of sunshine instead.

 _No,_ said Charles, _He’s okay. But I’m bored. I want to go outside! Can we have smoothies by the pool. Maybe we can float. But not swim yet._

 _< < Okay, >> _said David in easy agreement _, << Now?>>_

Charles shifted the hologram of Stark Tower aside so they could see Tony properly. He was pouring over something on the desk, music blaring as his foot tapped to the rhythm. The glow from the desk lamp made Tony’s face look weirdly yellow.

 _I don’t want to be annoying,_ said Charles, _maybe we can show him my fish later._

_< < JARVIS will let him know where we are >>_

_Okay!_

_< < it is best to go now when the sun is still up, it will get cold near six. >>_

With a wave of his hand, David squashed the stark tower hologram until it disappeared into the floor, all the blue lines of light vanishing like sun-dust particles, leaving everything slightly darker and less sparkly than it was before. Charles got up so David could stand and they both walked as quietly as they could to the door.

At the desk, Tony was spinning a complicated diagram round and round, so that they could barely see him through all the latticed light surrounding his face. He didn’t look up.

Charles let out a little breath in relief.

 

David helped Charles find his swimming trunks, and after getting changed, they made their way to the balcony pool, Robert and Max at their heels and David balancing a stack of fluffy towels from the hallway cupboard. He set them down near the pool before sliding the glass doors all the way back so a breeze woofed in and the water splashed gently against the edge of the balcony. Charles shivered and hugged his own elbows. He dipped his right foot tentatively into the water, then withdrew it again.

“It’s cold!” he protested, eyeing the surface distrustfully. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all. At least his swimming clothes were cooler than David’s – he had captain America ones, whereas David’s swimming trunks were plain black.

 _< < I have turned on the heating >> _said David, _ << It will be less cold soon. You will feel warmer in the water.>>_

You _get in first._

David tilted his head.

“Of course.”

Walking to the edge of the pool, David slid into the water in one smooth motion, barely making a ripple. He didn’t shiver or flinch either, but Charles was sure this was because David had super android-skin and wouldn’t be cold even if the whole pool was filled with ice.

Max barked excitedly, but sat on the pile of towels where he was. Robert was all the way on the beanbag, a safe distance from any stray splashes. Robbie, Charles decided, was one smart cat.

David held out his arms.

 _< < I’ll hold you above the surface first >> _he said _< < You won’t be in any danger of going under.>>_

Charles dipped his other foot in and swirled it around.

“Do you promise?”

“Promise what?”

_That you won’t drop me. I don’t want to get water up my nose._

_< < I promise you will not get water up your nose >> _said David, smiling. Tony gave him a lot of teeth, thought Charles.

_PROMISE_

_< < I promise. >>_

Taking a deep breath, Charles sat down at the pool edge. He inched closer by shifting his bottom, until he could wrap his arms around David’s neck, and he felt David’s arms go around his middle and under his bottom to support him.

“Okay,” said Charles, hugging very tightly, “Okay. Water now.”

David lifted him off the edge and Charles felt the water rush up around his middle, cool but not too cold – though it made him gasp anyway. But it was okay because he could see that David was standing firmly on the pool’s bottom (David had long legs). Then David half crouched so that the water rose up until it was at their shoulders.

Charles splashed the surface with one hand, and the water went all over David’s hair – and he looked so different, with it all slicked down flat, that Charles couldn’t help but laugh, and splash again.

David blinked at him, confused – but then (before Charles could react) – took one hand away and made a giant splash in Charles’ direction.

The water went right over Charles head, making him splutter and squeal in protest, rubbing both hands over his eyes in the attempt to clear the water.

“Not fair!” he said, “You said you were gonna hold me you can’t splash me!”

 _< < ? >>_ asked David, but obligingly wrapped his arm around Charles’ middle once more.

Charles paused for a moment.

“Okay I suppose you can. But you promised not to get water up my nose.”

“I’m sorry,” said David.

Charles wrapped both arms around his neck again.

_There isn’t actually any water up my nose._

_< < I know. >>_

_I wanna go to the edge of the pool and look over._

David moved through the water, and Charles loved the strange way it wooshed past them as David walked. They stopped at the edge of the pool, and Charles peered over the glass ledge, whilst holding onto David very tight. It was a long way down.

“Okay,” said Charles, “We can move back now. Please.”

“You won’t fall,” said David reassuringly, but he moved back towards the middle of the pool. That was when Charles noticed that Robert had ventured out onto the deck and was at the waters edge, drinking.

“No!” he said, “Don’t drink the pool water! Robbie!”

Robert ignored them.

“JARVIS told me it’s got chro- chlo- “

“Chlorine,” suggested David.

“Yeah,” said Charles, “ _Robbie._ ”

David splashed the water.

Robbie _hissed,_ springing back and disappearing into the house with a loud meow of protest. Max jumped down from his perch on top of towels and went scampering after him, barking loudly.

_DAVID!!!!!!_

_< < Cats do not like getting wet. I thought that was an effective deterrence. >>_

_SO MEAN!_

“I thought you wanted Robert to stop drinking the pool water.”

“He’s angry at us now,” said Charles.

“Are you angry?”

Charles giggled.

“No.”

David nodded, as if filing the thought away.

_< < Do you want to try floating?>>_

Charles clutched tighter.

“No!”

_< < The human body floats naturally in water >>_

_You float first!_

_< < I am much heavier than you and would not float >>_

_What if I’m too heavy for the water!?_

David patted Charles hair.

_< < You’re not. >>_

“I don’t want to put my head under the water,” protested Charles, still not letting go. He kicked with his feet so that he made splashes behind David’s back.

“You can float on your back,” said David, “You won’t learn to swim if I carry you forever. I will support your head so you won’t get any water on your face, all you have to do is relax all your muscles and lie back. Like sleeping.”

“…”

“…”

“…okay then.”

Charles took several deep breaths, then held his last one – and let go of David’s neck. David manoeuvred him onto his back, and Charles tried to go limp like going to sleep – but when the water went over his neck, he panicked and tried to sit up again –

David brought him back up to his chest as Charles flailed.

“Sorry,” said Charles, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said David, “let’s try again.”

Charles closed his eyes and counted to five.

_< < Ready? >>_

Charles nodded, and forced himself to go limp like Robert when he was picked up,  and there it was, the water over his neck again – but this time he could feel David’s large steady hand beneath his head, keeping him above the water which tickled his ear. It was cool against his scalp, making his hair like seaweed in the aquarium, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was like being in the bath, sort of.

“Let your arms and legs relax,” said David, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“Okay,” said Charles, because he was still too scared to move his head. But he let his arms and legs spread out, like a starfish, and felt them rise to the top of the water.

 _< < I’m going to let go of you now >>_ said David, sending soothing waves of warmth across their mental linkn _< < You’re going to float just fine. I will be right here. Can you feel my hand? >>_

A hand closed around his and Charles held onto it. He felt like a rubber duck.

 _Okay okay okay -_   he thought.

Then the pressure of David’s other hand disappeared from his head and Charles had a wild moment of panic…before realising that he was still floating. He opened his eyes, and found David staring down at him. Charles let out a laugh – it burbled up with the sheer new sensation of being weightless, the sky still blue, stretching far, far outwards beyond the edge of the water. David started to grin too.

“JARVIS! Look! Look, I’m floating!”

“Very well done, sir,” said JARVIS.

Charles kicked a little with his legs and he turned in the water. Then kicked a bit more. The sun was still warm on his skin and he decided that he liked water _a lot_. He had seen a clip of the Olympics once and swimming always looked the most fun.

He would show David that he could do this without any help at all.

_< < ??? >>_

Charles took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled his face under the surface.

_< < Charles! I thought you said you didn’t want water up your nose!>>_

But Charles was preoccupied with holding his breath. He wanted to open his eyes to look under water, but he was suddenly afraid that if he opened his eyes, he would take in a breath by accident so he kept them shut. Even his fists were clenched – and he felt David’s hands close around his shoulders.

A few more seconds went by and then Charles couldn’t hold his breath anymore and floundered to the surface, coughing and spluttering and triumphant. David scooped him up, and he was standing so the water fell away in droplets, ticklish on the bare skin.

“I DID IT!” Charles cried, in between coughs, “Did you see did you see I put my head under water all by myself – “

“I took a picture for you,” said JARVIS.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to get water up your nose,” David repeated, confused.

Charles sneezed.

Then sneezed again.

Then coughed.

 _I think I did get water up my nose,_ he confessed, blinking.

“The sun is setting soon,” said JARVIS, “Perhaps it is best you take Charles inside before he catches a cold.”

_< < Yes? >>_

_Okay._

David walked them both over to the edge of the pool, and after lifting Charles up and setting him on the deck, pulled himself out of the water. Then he padded over to the towels and draped the biggest one over Charles shoulder, wrapping it firmly around him until Charles felt like a toastie. Then David wrapped another towel around Charles’ wet hair herded him into the apartment. Behind them, the glass doors whirred automatically closed.

“I’m hungry,” Charles decided, as David set him down onto the beanbag and began drying his hair with the towel.

“What would you like for dinner?”

“I dunno.”

At the sound of their voices, Max came bounding back into the living room and scrambled onto the beanbag next to Charles. Charles tried to give him a pat – and found that both his arms were trapped inside the towel until David was finished with him.

“You should have a hot shower and get changed into dry clothes while I cook,” said David.

“Okay,” said Charles. Then after some thought: “Mushrooms.”

 _< < How about mushroom and chicken pasta? There is baby corn as well, which you liked last week. >> _David showed him what the dish looked like, and the smell of it made Charles’ tummy rumble.

_Yum._

With dinner decided, David herded Charles to the bathroom and went about placing Charles’ new clothes on the rack as Charles got into the shower (which was nice and warm after the pool water) and said, through the rising steam: “Your slippers are outside the bathroom doors.”

“’kaaay’” said Charles.

From the soap dish, rubber duck smiled at him and Charles smiled back.

Then he got shampoo in his eye and had to wash it out quick before the stinging sensation accidentally brought David running.

 

:i:

_…Tony…?_

_Not now buddy, Tony needs to make sure this bomb doesn’t fuck up._

_…okay. But we finished making dinner and it’s hot now and I think you’ll really –_

_CHARLIE. Can’t concentrate with you talking. Go play with David okay?_

_Okay._

:i:

 

Birthdays in the Stark family had always been…strange affairs. When Tony was young, they followed all the traditions: there was cake, there were friends (though Tony never had any, really, they weren’t friends, they were people who wanted something) and there was Uncle Obie and Howard’s acquaintances. There were the right number of candles, expensive gifts and a quiet ache afterwards.

Tony never knew whether it was because he was spoilt or because his dad would rather talk about him than talk to him, but after all of that was gone, he was determined not to have cake, or candles, and jump straight to he fun part.

At least, that was his excuse for the inordinate amount of alcohol he had consumed and the distinct lack of a jacket as he stumbled out of the lift, one palm slapping against the cool marble wall. Everything was pleasantly warm and fuzzy, and Tony yawned. Then nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus _fuck!_ ”

David blinked at him, from where he had been standing right in front of the lift doors.

Tony pointed.

“What the – have you been standing here all night? You’re meant to be with Charlie. _What the fuck._ ”

“You’re late,” said David – and it wasn’t accusing, his tone of voice was as light and pleasantly enquiring as always. But there was something about the way he was looming that made him exude disapproval in JARVIS-sized spades.

“For what,” said Tony, moving past David and into the living room proper, “I’ll have you know I’m never back this early. Right, JARVIS?”

“An unfortunate trend, sir.”

“You told Charles that you’d be back for cake and presents,” said David, following Tony into the kitchen.

Tony stopped, one hand on the counter, staring. There, in the middle of the table, was a birthday cake of middling size, covered in deep velvet red icing. On top of that was an impossible rendition of Dummy in cream frosting that looked as if it had been surgically constructed with microscopic precision. Beside that were the words _‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY!’_ in unsteady yellow writing. The dot of the exclamation mark was a little smeared, overlapping with Dummy’s left wheel. A ring of matching candles lined the edge of the cake, and if Tony bothered to count, there would probably be an exact number.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he stood there, hand frozen. He tried to remember if he had actually said anything to Charles – but his brain was fuzzy and thick with phantom music and he could honestly not remember. Guilt was a niggly feeling in his stomach, heavy and sickly.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Yes,” David agreed. “Charles insisted on staying up until you returned. But he fell asleep a few hours ago and – “

David broke off, head tilted. Then abruptly, without any further explanation, he moved past Tony in the direction of Tony’s bedroom.

“Oi,” said Tony – but then there was a questioning presence in his head, quiet and groggy _(home???)_ and he followed David past the kitchen counter and through the door left ajar.

Charles was sitting up in the middle of Tony’s bed, where he had obviously fallen asleep. The blankets were nested around him, and there was a large, flat parcel on the bedside table, wrapped in gold paper. Robbie and Max were both on the duvet, curled up around the lump that was Charles’ knees. David was brushing Charles’ hair back from his face and helping him into a warm jumper, but at the sight of Tony, Charles half fell, half leapt out of bed, crashing into Tony’s knees in his enthusiasm, one arm through his jumper and the other still underneath.

“Tony!” he exclaimed, voice slurred from sleep but there was a spark of genuine pleasure that warmed Tony from fingers to toes, “You’re home! Did you – are we gonna cut the cake now then David and me need to give you your pre – “ he gave an enormous yawn, rubbing his eyes with one fist, “ – present and then we have to eat your cake and –”. David deftly pulled his other arm through the sleeve and placed Charles bodily back onto the bed.

“David and I,” he corrected gently.

 _David and I_ , Charles agreed.

He must have drank or eaten something strange because surely heartburn didn’t go this high up. Tony felt like there was a pressure around his lungs, and perhaps it was because he was still drunk but it hurt something _awful_. His throat was very dry.

He sat down on the edge of his own bed – then had to hop again when Robbie gave a protesting meow and retreated to the other side of the pillows to nurse his tail. Max made a low, growly noise, which David shushed.

“Maybe you should get back to bed,” said Tony.

 _BIRTHDAY CAKE,_ protested Charles, “We have to blow candles now!”

“Well,” said Tony, “It’s technically past my birthday anyway. Past midnight.”

He regretted his words instantly when Charles’ face fell, mouth opening in a “O” that would have been comical if it wasn’t so pathetic looking.

“You will feel ill if you eat cake now,” David interrupted, helpful for once in his wretched robotic life, “maybe Sir can open the presents and then the cake can be saved for later?”

“We can have cake for breakfast,” said Tony, decisively.

“That is not a good idea,” said JARVIS from the ceiling.

“Mute,” said Tony. He patted Charles awkwardly on the head, smoothing back the bed-hair until Charles looked like he was about to nod off again. Tony’s own clothes smelt of alcohol.

“Okay,” said Charles, shuffling to the edge of the bed, “Presents first.”

He thrust the parcel into Tony’s lap with a great flourish. The edge of it poked Tony in the stomach, and it felt hard and rectangular. He made a show of feeling the parcel with his hands in anticipation: the surface of it gave a little under pressure – and when Tony made to poke it a bit harder, Charles made a earnest, wincing face.

“Alright, alright,” said Tony, flipping the present over and feeling for the tape edges with his fingernails. The corners of the paper had been folded down with military precision that could only come from hands of the robotic persuasion, and Tony didn’t’ know whether it was the alcohol or the dim light in the room but it took him a good two minutes before he found a viable tape-edge. He peeled it back. The parcel made a faint ripping sound.

“Shall I do it?” David offered.

“Fuck off,” said Tony, trying in vain not to rip the paper. It tore a little bit more, just to spite him, and he gave up and simply ripped the side off, sliding the object out of the opening.

It was a canvas painting, vivid with childish colours and deep broad brush strokes. It was a long, narrow painting with a row of people painted upon a green rectangle that Tony assumed to be grass. There was also a very big cylinder shaped thing in the blue background, which looked as if it was trying to be Stark Tower.

“Um,” said Tony, throat tight.

Charles was peering at him over the edge of the canvas, anxiousness curling tentatively about their heads. His eyes flicked from Tony’s face down to the painting and then back to Tony’s face again.

“I’m not very good,” he said, after a long silence, brows furrowing. “But David said he could tell who everyone was!”

“Uh – ”

“I could,” said David, pointedly.

Charles scooted closer and jabbed a finger at tallest figure in the middle of the painting.

“That’s you,” he said to Tony, “This is me. An’ this is David. An’ this is Max and Robbie and here’s Dummy and here’s U and this – “ he pointed to a strange blobby fog on the side, “ – is JARVIS but that’s cause he hasn’t got a body like David, and here are the budgies and here’s the fish tank!”

Tony leaned closer. There were indeed yellow-orange specks in the blue rectangle, above which were five brightly coloured blobs with eyes and triangles for beaks.

“Wow,” he said, throat still scratchy with something painful, “Wow that’s – great painting. Is that you flying?” he pointed to the two figures in the sky, which had wings.

“No,” said Charles, “That’s Mother because she has pretty hair and that’s Papa.”

There was a quiet, heavy pause.

“They’re flying ‘cause they’re angels,” Charles explained, when Tony still didn’t reply because _Christ_ , it should have been Brian sitting on the edge of Charles’ bed and Bri coaxing him back to sleep because it was nearly three in the morning which was far too late for any child to be still awake and Charles had done it out of some kind of displaced affection because Bri _wasn’t_ here and Tony was what he got stuck with and Brian had the exact same, stupid looking bed-hair when he woke up for his morning labs, stumbling about the corridors like a uncaffienated zombie –

Charles threw himself around Tony’s middle.

_Nonononono no sads on birthday love you love you –_

Charles’ hair smelt like peach shampoo, soft against Tony’s cheek. He was small – even wearing a thick jumper – and Tony thought he might break if he held him any tighter.

_“There, there,” Bri would say, “Shh, Charlie, shhh. Papa’s here.”_

Tony said nothing at all.

 

Neither of them let go for a long, long time.

 

:i:

_22 Hours Later_

:i:

 

It was an especially sunny afternoon, so at Charles’ insistence, David had hung all the washing out in the sun instead of using the dryer because sunlight smelt far nicer on your pillow than soap. The downside to all this was that Charles was hungry and it wasn’t lunch time yet.

He opened the fridge and peered inside, letting the coolness wash over his face.

Did he want orange juice?

No, Charles decided. He wanted something more awesome than juice.

There wasn’t any left overs because David was very good at calculating exactly how much everyone ate, and the only thing that was microwavable looked to be a bowl of jasmine rice. Charles pulled open the fruit partition and rummaged inside.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, pulling a plastic container out. It contained neat slices of watermelon, the red ones from the green house. Letting the fridge door swing shut, Charles picked out a fork from the cutlery drawer and popped open the lid. Leaving it by the sink, he plopped himself down on the beanbag (which helpfully shifted into the shape of a squashy chair, shifting Max who had been dozing.

Charles picked out a piece from the top of the pile and ate it with relish.

“Meowwww,” said Robbie, jumping up next to Charles and rubbing up against his shoulder like cats do. He leaned right over Charles’ elbow in the attempt to nose at the watermelon.

“JARVIS,” asked Charles, out loud, “Can Robbie have some?”

A pause.

“In moderation,” said JARVIS.

“MEROWWWW,” said Robbie, rubbing his face against Charles’ wrist.

 _OKAYYY,_ sent Charles, and held out a piece of watermelon between his fingers. Robbie sniffed it for a good ten seconds before taking  a lick. Then another lick. Then soon he was munching down on the watermelon piece until sticky juice was running down the inside of Charles’ wrist, ticklish, but Robbie’s pleasure was like a purr inside Charles’ own chest. When Robbie finished the first piece, he stepped over Charles’ arm in an attempt to get at the rest of the fruit in the container. His tail arched up and gave Charles a face-full of fluff.

“No, no!” he spluttered, hold the container out of reach.

 _MORRREEEE_ thought Robbie, with all the impatience of a kitty deprived of strange sweet treats.

Charles stabbed another piece and stuffed it in his own mouth, chewing triumphantly. Robbie stared at him as if he was murdering all the pillows in the house, big blue eyes full of accusation. His ears flicked, back and forth, then back and forth.

Charles looked down at his container.

“Alright, maybe one more,” he said.

 

  

David walked in just as Charles was pulling out the fruit knife to cut the remaining half of the watermelon in the fridge into eatable portions. Between one blink and the next, the knife had been returned to its drawer and the drawer had been shut with a snap.

_< < Charles! You are not supposed to hold the knives! >>_

David smelt like fresh linens and washing detergent.

 _I just wanted another pieeeece,_ thought Charles, a little sulkily. He crossed his arms for good measure. At his feet, Robbie gave an annoyed mew and leapt nimbly onto the kitchen stool – from where he could glare at David better.

 _< < You might hurt yourself, >>_ said David, crossly.

 _I won’t!_ protested Charles because he had watched David cut up all sorts of food and it didn’t look difficult at all.

<< You might >> said David, reaching for the watermelon and rewrapping it, << and you have had plenty already, you will feel sick if you have anymore. >>

“Mew,” said Robbie.

“I won’t,” said Charles, eyeing the fruit as David returned it to the fridge. Then he perked up, as a thought struck him. “Can we make watermelon _sor-bay_ later?”

David was taking all sorts of boring looking vegetables out of the fridge, but he nodded as he set them all down on the counter by the sink.

“I will make some for dessert,” he promised, showing Charles a picture of round-bellied glass bowls full of pink sorbet ice-cream, topped with sliced star fruit and a yellow spoon to match.

_Yes, like that!_

_< < But you must eat your meal first. >>_

“MEW!” protested Robbie. On the beanbag, Max – feeling left out – began to bark.

Charles was so absorbed in helping David in the kitchen that he didn’t notice Tony until he was in the lift, an electric buzz of foggy nerves that preceded the _ding!_ of the elevator doors opening. But when he appeared around the corner, he wasn’t in his usual workshop clothes. Tony was wearing a fancy suit with a crisp collar and a tie that was so orange it caused Robbie to hop off the kitchen bench and disappear. Charles waved the spoon he was holding.

“We’re making pie!” he said, “This is the apple bit that goes in the middle do you wan’ to try some it’s got cinna-men and sugar and I made the – “

“Can’t right now, Charlie,” said Tony distractedly, bending down and taking the bowl from Charles’ hands. He set it down on the countertop without even looking at it, or taking a sniff. Charles quietened, Tony’s unease making his smile droop.

 _???_ he asked, tentatively.

Tony cleared his throat, twice. Then he patted Charles on the head.

“I’ll be gone for a week. Ish. Ten days. Roughly. It’s a guesstimate.”

He straightened Charles’ hoodie, patting the shoulders down.

Charles blinked.

_…Week? But it’s so far away I won’t be able to hear –_

 “Weapons demonstration. Need to be there to persuade people to buy a lot of very awesome bombs.”

_\- just need some space, jesus, won’t be long, wont’ be gone long, not going away really just –_

_< < Charles, calm. >>_

And so he did what had always seem to work – Charles gave Tony a hug around the middle (but not a long hug or a tight hug, just a small one that was easy to hold, then kind he gave Mother when she was having a bad day and the reason for that bad day was him).

Tony gave him two pats on the back, then stood up. His leather shoes were so shiny that Charles could see a blurry reflection of him and David in the side.

“Okay,” he said.

“Be good,” said Tony. Then he dipped a finger into the mixing bowl, giving it a lick. “Save me some of this pie, yeah?”

“It will not be healthy to consume it after more than three days in the fridge,” said David. He was still in front of the stove.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tony, waving a hand, “JARVIS. Don’t let David off his leash.”

He turned on his heels with the smallest of squeaks and strode back to the elevator. Charles trailed after him, heart thumping.

“Of course, sir,” said JARVIS blithely from the ceiling.

The lift doors opened obligingly and Tony got in. Charles made to follow but stopped at the look on Tony’s face.

“Be back soon, kiddo,” he said, “I’ll bring you something cool, ‘kay? Be good.”

“Okay,” said Charles, as brightly as he could, wondering why Tony didn’t want him to come down to the car with him, or maybe to the airport to say bye, “I’ll – ”

The lift door slid shut in Charles’ face.

:i: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please subscribe to the series if you'd like to keep up to date with this verse! I basically had to cut out 1/3 of this chapter due to length, and will be posting them as separate one shots. There will also be backstories of young!Brian & Tony so :>**
> 
>  
> 
> * I know that the original Stark Tower was modelled on the Met building. However since this is set in the year 2025, we decided that the number of floors etc would not necessarily be the same – hence this Stark Tower is a bit taller than the one in canon.  
> \- I deliberately did not write any passages from David’s point of view; mostly for stylistic purposes. I will be writing timestamp fics from David’s perspective. Here, I mostly wanted to show the differences between how Charles sees David and how Tony sees David: the former as a friend, the latter as something he has created, like JARVIS.  
> \- ‘Robert’ the cat is named after Robert Downey Jr. and his cats but could also be a nod to Robbie from Atonement. He is a ragdoll cat.  
> \- A lot of things regarding telepathy has been implied in this chapter, rather than made explicit (yet). So there are bits left deliberately strange re. characterisation etc – but please let me know if you thought it read okay or not!
> 
> phew, 22K chapter...i hope you enjoyed T_T <3
> 
> EDIT: backstory fic! http://archiveofourown.org/works/898845


	5. Arc 1, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes missing, lies are told, promises are kept. Charles inadvertently learns something with his telepathy, and David gets a new battery. Tony realises what it means to be a father, and what it means to accept loss. 
> 
> Somewhere, a clock is ticking.

:i:

 _“Orphans are the only ones who get to choose their fathers,_  
 _and they love them twice as much.”_  
– A. Johnson.

:i:

 

Breakfast was porridge with sliced apples, pears and star-fruit. Usually, he loved star-fruit; he liked the colour and the faint crunchy texture, and it wasn’t sour and it was shaped like a _star_. But this morning, Charles could only concentrate on the sick, sinking feeling in his stomach.

“But Pepper said Tony’d be back _today,”_ he said, ignoring David’s attempts to get him to pick up his spoon, “Today!”

 _< <There has been some delays,>>_ said David, putting the fruit knife away with one hand and folding the tea-towel into a neat square with the other.

_What kind of delays? Did his plane break down? Do you know how long until he’s back? Can I talk to him on the phone?_

And David hesitated; a breath of silence between his usually prompt replies. Charles watched his expression carefully, but it was without ominous wrinkles. He felt unsure, blind, and sat on his hands to make them feel warm again.

 _< < There was an interruption after the demonstration,>>_ said David, _< < And that’s why there has been a delay.>>_

“I want to talk to Tony on the phone,” said Charles, stubbornly.

“He hasn’t got his phone with him at the moment,” said David, “But I’m sure Tony will ring you as soon as he can.”

Charles stared at the porridge. The fruit was starting to sink slowly, the apple slices going brown. Suddenly he felt bad because of course Tony was really busy, he was very important and had lots of things to do and Charles was being a baby about it and it wasn’t fair to ruin the breakfast David had made for him. Because the porridge was going cold.

But still, the sick feeling didn’t go away.

He must have been projecting because David walked around the table and crouched down to give Charles a hug. Charles resisted for all of one second before hugging back. David had long arms, and they went all the way around Charles’ back like a seat belt.

“Will you tell me when we can call Tony?” he mumbled into David’s shirt collar, “I wanna talk to him.”

“I will,” said David.

_Promise?_

_< < I promise,>>_ said David. And it was an unfaltering thing, unwavering; the thought utterly devoid of doubt or hesitation.

:i:

 

On hindsight, it was more surreal than it was shocking.

The words  _‘STARK INDUSTRIES’_  was printed in neat, steel-grey lettering. There was something frightfully familiar about the tailfin of the bomb (because Tony Stark knew everything about everything he created, like a parent numbering off his children.) And this bomb: this bomb he knew.

Someone had sold him out.

Betrayed him, turned coat, done him in. It shouldn’t have been a surprise but it was, and Tony wanted to laugh. The bomb itself was no bigger than his arm, but the blast sent Tony lung-deep into the hard dirt several feet away. He landed on his back in a spray of sand and shattered rock, skin flaring hot as it was scraped raw; breaking his fall. The boulder had taken most of the direct impact, but his head still rung.

He felt like a turtle, upended, shoes heavy.

Needles in his chest, squirming like insects.

Tony wheezed. He couldn’t see for the dust in his eyes, and there was something heavy, pushing him down. He coughed, and his mouth was wet. His phone had been flung somewhere, gone from the palm of his hand and there was too much dust in the air for him to see – sharp and stinging into his eyes, down his throat, everywhere.

The sky was very, very bright, and he squinted.

Tony coughed again, scrabbling at the weight pushing him down, and his hands came away with a torn shirt and bloody nails. Something had gotten past his vest.  _Something_ …

The sun was white hot, but Tony’s hands were leaden with cold.

 

When he woke, it was to a fever.

Everything was pitch black – and for a moment, Tony thought he might have gone blind. But there was no pain in his eyes, and after exerting herculean effort, he managed to prise them open like a child struggling at the rim of door, dirty fingernails bitten raw.

It took a long minute before shapes began to solidify from the blurry mess above him (light source, to the left – yellow, not white or blue) and he could hear disembodied voices. It was like he had been swallowing sand; his throat dry and cracked and the prospect of making a sound was unimaginable.

His chest hurt, something deep and visceral.

“Water,” he tried to say.

He wasn’t sure if the word actually came out; his ears were filled with a buzzing roar of…sedative? Tony remembered a bomb. But he needed water first.

“ _Water_ ,” he tried again, coughing up the word from the depths of his scraped-out lungs because there was something obstructing each inhale and exhale and, Jesus fucking Christ, he felt as if he was being drilled open from the inside out, someone cracking open his bones and rearranging them –

A shadow fell over him, partially blocking the light, and Tony blinked hard. A face, swam into view, and it sharpened all of a sudden so that Tony barely noticed the sharp prick of pain at his elbow.

“Bri?” he said.

Brian held up a cup with a straw. He was smiling, an exasperated but not pissed of expression because it took a lot to piss Bri off, and Tony’s been drunk enough times that being hung-over wasn’t enough to even annoy his friend anymore. As it were, Bri’s presence felt like it always did – a sort of comforting blanket of concern and affectionate worry. He was wearing his reading glasses, which, combined with one of his usual ugly sweaters, made him look like an old boring whatsit. The sweater was a particularly atrocious shade of cream today, and had two lines of small bobbles knitted down the front.

“You told me,” said Brian I-dress-like-my-grandfather Xavier, holding the glass closer to Tony so he could sip out of the straw, “that you would be  _‘right behind me,’_  when I left, quote unquote. For the record, I totally did not buy it for a second.”

The water tasted like lead, but it was cool and Tony felt like he might cry with the relief it brought to his throat. He swallowed hard, drinking until he heard air. Brian took the cup away and set it on the ground. It made a metallic sound, hollow and out of place.

Bri was still talking.

“So you woke me up when you came back at five am, threw up in the loo, check, knocked over all my stuff, check and then won’t go to bed.”

Tony laughed, but it came out as a cough instead.

“…’sthat why I’m on the floor,” he said, patting the hard surface beneath him with one clumsy hand. It felt like he threw up his fine motor control as well as half his stomach.

“You’re not on the floor,” said Brian, looking bemused, “You’re in your bed.”

“Fuck,” said Tony, because his bed felt way harder than it should be. He hated everyone and everything. He was never going to drink again.

“Never gonna drink again,” he said solemnly.

Brian snorted.

“Right,” he said. “More water?”

“Burger.”

“Yeah no, you can make your own food runs. Honestly, we’re not at college anymore, you should really have learnt from all the times this has happened.”

That was confusing. Tony tried to look around, but couldn’t even lift himself up on his elbows. He must have drunk something truly toxic last night.

“We’re not?” he repeated, then, “ _Burger._ ”

Brian was offering him another drink of water, and Tony took I gratefully. His chest ached something awful when he moved his hands though, and Brian pushed them back down to the bed, lips frowning into a thin line.

“Don’t move so much,” he said, “you’ll tear it. Just lie still.”

“Tear what?” Tony wanted to ask, but he was too busy chasing the water at the bottom of the cup. Once he had finished, he closed his eyes again, because the light was getting brighter and brighter with each passing second. He wanted a shower to wash the cold clammy feeling off his skin. Brian made a sound at the back of his throat and smoothed Tony’s hair back from his forehead in sympathy.

Then the hand stilled.

Tony opened his eyes. Brian was staring at something over Tony’s shoulder, that Tony couldn’t see – head tilted. A flicker of worry passed between them.

“Whas’at?” said Tony, craning his neck. Bri promptly pushed him back into the bed by the shoulders. He stood up, left hand moving automatically to his temple, the way he did whenever someone was particularly loud.

“Charlie’s wondering where I am,” he said with an apologetic smile, “He can feel me but doesn't like it when I'm not actually there. I think it must be a bit confusing. I’ll just go check up on him.”

“Oh,” said Tony, the sensation of worry doubling in his own chest. He wondered why Brian was projecting so loudly. He was walking around the end of the bed now, disappearing out of Tony’s line of sight and Tony felt a spike of panic that was completely his own.

“Hey – ” he protested, because the stupid light was definitely getting way too bright. He was overwhelmed by the irrational fear of closing his eyes. “Bri – ”

“Charlie needs me,” said Brian, sounding very far away, “Be back in a sec.”

Tony waited, and waited,

and waited.

:i:

 

an extract from _The New York Times_ , 1st of June, 2026.

**STARK STILL MISSING: MARKO CLAIMS CUSTODY OF BILLION-DOLLAR BABY.**

> _“…has made no further headway in locating Tony Stark since the ambush on the 20 th of May, nearly two weeks ago. _Stark Industries _CFO, Obadiah Stane, has assumed duties as acting CEO until Tony Stark is found. Stane was unavailable for comment at this time, but Stark’s P.A, Virginia Potts confirmed that Stane has legal custody over Charles Xavier, Tony Stark’s seven-year-old godson. Kurt Marko, brother to the late Sharon Xavier, is challenging the custody of his nephew, saying it’s not what his sister would have wanted._
> 
> _‘We’re the only family he [Charles] has left,’ says Marko, ‘it’s absolutely ridiculous that a kid that age is being left alone with some nanny.’_
> 
> _He accuses Stane of using delay tactics to bolster_ Stark Industries’ _portfolio._
> 
> _‘There are a lot of sensitive projects on-going,’ he says, ‘projects in development. And Stane obviously wants to appropriate that research.’_
> 
> _If Marko gains legal custody, he will also step in as CEO of_ Xavier Laboratories _for as long as Stark is MIA. In addition, he gains control over $3.5 billion worth of personal assets, which has been left in Charles’ inheritance, as well as substantial funds held with_ TheFrancis Xavier Trust _._
> 
> _‘It’s a very difficult time,’ says Potts, ‘It’s in Charles’ best interests to be in a consistent, familiar environment – especially after what happened last year. […] Mr. Stane agrees and will be negotiating with Mr. Marko on this issue.’_

:i:

 

> _Stark Tower, New York City. Two weeks later._

Not-hearing was a conscious effort.

It was harder when he was tired, or if he had just woken up. It was hard if whoever it was had particularly loud thoughts, or clear thoughts, the kind that ran like a well typed narration alongside the frame of your eyes. It was hard too, if it was a surprise, emotions like shock, hurt, a scream, despair, joy. But as David said, even the things that require effort could be trained into a habit, and despite the hubbub of people below their feet, it was easier to push them down to a low murmur.

But when someone was thinking about you very, very hard, it was difficult to shut them out.

It was late afternoon. Charles and David had gathered the last of the potted-strawberries and blended them with ice to make strawberry slushie, which Charles was contentedly eating at the kitchen bench. He was half way through the bowl (a pretty glass one with birds around the side), when he caught a particularly loud wave of panic, blurry thoughts sharpening with the smell of something tight and aching. _Dread._

David caught the bowl before it could hit the ground – but Charles was already half way to the lift door and he _didn’t care_ that Pepper was scared of him because because _because_ -

 ** _Where is Tony?_** He demanded, pushing the thought at her as loudly as he could, heart thumping in his throat and the prickle of panic behind his eyes ( _Papa, Papa, Papa gone_ ) **_what do you mean no one can find him where is he where is tony where no, not dead, not dead, tell me where he is, come up stairs, tell me where tell me now tell me TELL ME NOW –_**

****

But Pepper didn’t know, Charles could see it as clear as words on a page, and the only thing he could really taste was the doubt, heavy and sick in his mouth because Pepper thought Tony was dead because he was missing and had been missing and it’s been so long. He rifled through her memories, her meetings with Rhodey in a wide expansive office, faces like sad portraits. Outside the office, Rhodey stopped in his tracks.

Charles pulled, desperately – and he felt Pepper answer, Rhodey’s mind turning too, like a handle being wrenched.

 _Alright!_ She said, out-loud and in her head, desperate _I’m coming I’m coming – please don’t cry._

**_Where’s Tony?_ **

_I don’t know! I don’t –_

“Charles. Charles!”

David was shaking him by shoulders. Charles felt like he wasn’t in his own body at all, and someone was screaming very close. He clapped both hands to his ears, out of breath – and it was a long moment before Charles realised the screaming was coming from his own chest, and that his eyes were blurry and wet with tears.

David was rubbing his back, smooth methodical motions in circles. On one of the breakfast stools, Robbie was hissing, ears flat on his head at Charles’ distress.

Charles hiccupped to a stop, chest heaving. He rubbed his eyes furiously with one sleeve.

“Shh,” said David. And he didn’t ask what was wrong because he knew; they were never out of each-other’s minds anymore. And a horrible thought struck Charles, like a hot stone sinking all the way from his mouth into the bottom of his stomach, burning and heavy. He pulled away, forcing David to stop.

“Did you know?” he asked, in both mind and voice, “Did you know Tony was missing?”

David blinked, once.

“Yes,” he said.

Charles swayed, unsteady.

 _YOU LIED TO ME,_ he said, horrified, _You lied! I asked you and you –_

 _< < I have never told you a falsity,>> _said David, _< < When you asked, I did not know whether Tony was – >>_

 _DEAD?_ Screamed Charles, the thought of it like a vacuum inside his lungs and all he could think about was that jarring moment when he couldn’t feel Papa or Mother any more and there was just a dead, vast, absence where their presence once lived inside his head.

His nose was running, cloggy and he couldn’t breathe properly, but he flinched backwards from the tissue David tried to give him.

“Charles, please stop panicking,” he was saying, voice low and soothing except David lied, David lied and Charles didn’t know and how could he know if David was telling the truth, ever again?

_< < Charles, please, deep breaths – >>_

_Why didn’t you tell me?_

_< < Because your health is my highest priority,>> _said David, _< < and I did not want to upset you like this. It is not good for you. Please, breathe slowly. …Charles? >>_

__

In the foyer, the lift chimed. It was Pepper and Rhodey, the first with red rimmed eyes, the latter looking thoroughly spooked. Pepper’s hair was coming out of its tidy bun, and there was a smear of pen-ink on her sleeve.

“Sweetheart,” she said, and her voice was all choked up too. Charles felt suddenly guilty for screaming at her, and the guilt and anger was a horrible, suffocating cloud.

“Where’s Tony?” he asked.

“We don’t know,” said Pepper, crouching down so she was the same height as Charles, “But he’s not dead. He’s not dead, okay? Tony’s coming home I promise – ”

“No!” Charles shouted, “No you don’t _know!_ You’re not even thinking that! Stop lying! Stop lying; you don’t think Tony is coming back you think he’s dead stop it, stop it – !”

A sob broke off the last of his words and Charles didn’t know what to do. He looked, desperately around the room but he could find nothing in Pepper’s expression or thoughts that even echoed her promise. He turned to Rhodey, who was still standing near the lift doors and Charles ran to clutch at his pant legs.

“Where’s Tony?” he asked, again, desperately, “You went with him to the airport. You went with him, he’s okay, right? Can I talk to him on your phone?”

“Charlie…”

“ _Please!_ ” said Charles, and the world was blurry again and he could barely see. There were arms around him now, trying to hug him but he didn’t want to be hugged by Rhodey. He wanted Tony back.

“We don’t know where Tony is right now,” said Rhodey, hoarse, “But we’re looking for him as hard as we can.”

“But you’re here! How are you looking for him when you’re here?” Charles demanded.

He took Rhodey’s thoughts and started searching: searching until he found an explosion, shouting, and the sound of gun-fire, rapid and too loud, much louder than the kind in movies. There was smoke everywhere, thick blinding sand. Another explosion.

Dimly, he was aware that Pepper was screaming too. David was pulling him away from Rhodey, hands underneath Charles armpits, lifting him up and away and Charles kicked him vindictively, trying to squirm away.

**_Keep looking, keep looking Tony isn’t dead have to find him have to want Tony need to find –_ **

_< < CHARLES,>> _ said David, shocking Charles out of his search. The room swam back into focus to find Pepper on one of the chairs and Rhodey leaning against the kitchen counter with a white knuckled grip. He was staring at Charles with wide eyes, face pale.

There was a loud _mreowww,_ and Charles looked down to find Robbie winding himself around his ankles, pawing at his socks in agitated concern. His ears were still flat on his head, eyes very blue. He hissed when David tried to pick Charles up again, fur standing on the end of his tail.

Charles thought about the fire and the sand. And he wondered if Papa’s car had been like that, when it had crashed. He wondered if it hurt a lot, or whether Papa and Mother had disappeared very quickly.

He thought about Tony in that explosion.

Another sob clawed its way up out of his lungs, into his throat, scratching his thoughts raw with uncertainty and he couldn’t help the tears that welled up again, hot and achey.

“Sweetie,” said Pepper, sounding as devastated as Charles felt (and Charles couldn’t tell if he was hearing Pepper’s emotions or his own, there was a loud, deafening buzz in his own head), “Sweetie please calm down.”

“I hate you,” he said, the words coming in coughs and hiccups, “I hate all of you. I want Tony.”

_< < Charles,>>_

_NO. I HATE YOU. YOU LIED TO ME. YOU LIED. I HATE YOU._

And he couldn’t bear the dread in their thoughts, the doubt as heavy as certainty inside their own chests – the unspoken conviction that Tony wasn’t coming home. Blindly, Charles picked Robbie up and ran to his room, fumbling with the door until JARVIS opened it for him with a quiet sigh. He slammed it shut again before anyone else could come in, letting his back hit the wood and slide down until his bottom touched the carpet, knees folded up so there was only room for Robbie to sit in his lap, front paws resting on Charles’ chest.

He was crying in earnest now, where no one could see.

Robbie meowed again, and licked at the tears on Charles’ cheeks with his scratchy tongue. His paws were pressure points just above his heart, and it was a comfort to have him there. He meowed in protest when Charles squeezed too hard, but didn’t leave.

They sat together on the floor, until both Pepper and Rhodey went away, leaving David alone in the living room. Max scratched plaintively at the bedroom door for a long while, but Charles was too scared to let him in, hands damp in Robbie’s fur.

Eventually, everything stilled; even David’s thoughts.

Charles watched the sun set slowly from one side of the room to the other. He fell asleep that way, curled up against the door.

 

:i:

 

> _New York City, Stark Industries. Two years ago._

“Sir?” said JARVIS, “Mr. Xavier is here to see you.”

Tony pushed himself backwards until his face was free of the car. Engines were therapeutic. Bri rarely interrupted Tony’s Engine Time for no good reason. He pushed himself back some more until he could sit up properly, and lifted the Googles from his face, wiping his forehead with his shirt and getting up. Brian was such a regular visitor that JARVIS let him through with a perfunctionary alert.

Grabbing the mug that was still on his workbench, Tony peered at it for a minute (brown, sloshy, not solid), shrugged and chugged it back. He winced. Cold coffee. Possibly from yesterday, and not this morning.

He was peeling off his nano-gloves when the door to the workshop made a cheerful bleep sound and slid aside. Footsteps, squeaky clean leather.

“Aren’t you meant to be in Westchester?” said Tony, turning around. He bounced the nanoball once, twice, three times off the ground before letting it snap in place around his wrist like a particularly sentient watch.

His grin slid right off his face at the sight of Brian’s expression.

“Hey – What’s up? You look like someone just – ”

“Do you want to tell me what this is?” Brian interrupted, taking two steps to the bench and dropping a sheaf of paper on the table-top. His shoulders were tight with something withheld, mouth pressed in an uncharacteristically grim line. Tony eyed him warily, then glanced at the papers.

“Uh,” he said, “Half a rainforest?”

Not even a hint of a smile. Letting out a breath of resignation, Tony plucked the top sheet off the pile between thumb and forefinger.

He felt a sinking sensation at the bottom of his stomach. Ah. He deliberately avoided eye contact. Even so, he could feel Brian watching him.

“You know,” he said, putting the paper back on its pile, “I’m pretty sure you’re not meant to have access to these. Confidential patents and all that. Do I need to give Rhodey a dressing down because seriously, I don’t think I can deal with you guys ganging up on – “

“Legal fetched this, actually,” said Brian, and he didn’t sound nor feel angry. But Tony had known Bri since he was fifteen. And when Brian stopped projecting, it only meant he was wound tight, hold back; a fist clenched.

“And I thought, hold on, this sounds mighty familiar. I wonder where I’ve seen it before.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Are you about to launch into one of your _‘bombs are bad’_ lectures, Bri – oh, how’s that for alliteration, you should teach your own class – because we’ve been through this before.”

Brian slammed a hand down on the benchtop; and it was such an aborted movement that Tony was taken aback. Brian never lost his temper.

“You took this from our project!” Brian shouted, face suddenly contorting with emotion. He waved a hand at the patent papers, the gesture shivering with anger as he listed: “nanobots, the emitter targeting algorithm – this is right out of – how _dare_ you turn this into a – a _weapon!”_

And Brian was projecting now, the anger and betrayal coming off him in waves so that Tony wished he was back under his car again. But he dug his metaphorical heels in, indignation a sharp taste at the back of his throat.

“Hold on,” he said, palm up, “ _Took?_ If I remember correctly, pretty sure it was _me_ who actually made the bots in the first place. So careful with the allegations, Mr. Prosecutor.”

“You told me this was off the books,” said Brian, hands shaking when he pointed an accusing finger at Tony’s chest, “You told me this was a project, between you and me, we won’t do anything until we can be sure it’d work. Let’s see how far we can go, let’s perfect it to cell targeting; a diagnostic that will take seconds rather than weeks and weeks. You – “

“ _You_ need to calm down,” said Tony, thoroughly pissed now, “What is your problem? – I designed a new bomb, yeah. In case you haven’t noticed Bri, that’s what Stark Industries _does_.”

Brian made a strange noise, a laugh dry and devoid of his usual affectionate humour.

“You never think about the consequences of your actions,” he said and that’s it, Tony did not need another person talking to him like a irresponsible five year old, let alone someone who was meant to be his friend.

“Is this going to be a lecture?” he interjected, “Because I’d appreciate it if you could schedule that in in advance. I’m kinda busy here.”

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Brian continued, ignoring the interruption, “Do you know how hard it is going to be to try to push this through now that it’s in the military contracts? Years. Decades. That’s what happens when you fucking sell your patent to them Tony, do you think they’re going to let me use the same technology in the hospitals?

It’ll be next to impossible to get this out – all of that work, all of those breakthroughs, we could identify ill cells since phase one. We could cut down the lines in the ER by 90% in less than two years.

Instead, you made it into a bomb. Organ targeting, are you kidding me?”

“Instead of killing people,” said Tony, the sour guilt buried beneath the ache of indignation and something ugly. “We can programme it to do other things. Less destructive things. I thought you’d be all on board with this idea, since you’re such an eternal pacifist. I guess some people just aren’t happy with – “

 _“STOP LYING!”_ Brian shouted, hand coming up reflexively to his temple, “Are you even listening to yourself? If you thought it was such a good idea, why didn’t you tell me? If you believed what you were saying you wouldn’t be feeling so guilty about it right now. I want. To know. Why you thought it was okay _to go behind my back_ – and – “

“How am I lying?” Tony demanded, “If you want the pacifist happy-rainbow pitch, I’ll give you that pitch. Do you know just how many civilian lives can be saved with this technology? No more casualties, everything is programmable. Temporary paralysis. Civilian – check, terrorists – cross. Zero margin of error. And let me remind you that _you_ came to me for help on this, right, so how about you get off your high and mighty horse and pull your head down to the real world?”

Brian was shaking his head. His cheeks were pink from his anger and shouting, eyes hard and gaze unforgiving in their sockets. It was like meeting a stranger.

“Bullshit, Tony,” he said, “That’s bullshit. This didn’t even cross your mind. And yeah, if I were you, I’d be feeling sick too.

“You really need to stop reading people without permission,” said Tony, coldly.

Brian threw up his hands.

“I can’t help it if you’re projecting like this,” he said, “I trusted you, I _trusted_ you to know how important this was to me and not to run and turn it into a profit margin, you _know_ how much this meant to – “

“Intellectual property 101, Bri,” said Tony, “the bots were my idea, I can do whatever I like – “

Brian laughed.

“Yes, you’ve made it quite clear that Tony Stark does whatever he likes, and to hell with the consequences – “

“ – and while I usually don’t care if you’re living in a fantasy land where we cure cancer and give that shit away for free on the street or something – “

“Don’t you _dare_ mock – “

“ – it gets really old when you feel the need to lecture everyone who lives down here. On earth. Just because you feel the need to dress like your grandfather doesn’t mean you need to act like a – “

“Has it ever occurred to you that I am sick and tired of your selfish –“

“Has it every occurred to _you_ that I’m sick of you rummaging around in my head for twenty years? You project all the time, Bri. Not that I’m complaining about being able to experience someone elses’ disapproval of me, first hand, because wow, great seats to the show – but for _fuck sake_.”

There was a long, sudden stillness in the room.

The anger dissipated as fast as it came. Almost instantly, Tony regretted his words.

All the emotion seemed to drain out of Brian, leaving him hurt; desaturated. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again. He placed an unsteady hand on the pile of paper, briefly, before leaving them where they were. It was his left hand, the one he wore his wedding ring on. (Tony had helped Brian pick out that ring, one very late and very rainy Friday afternoon.)

“Well,” said Bri at last, voice a little hoarse. It made Tony feel sick inside.

He should apologise. He _wanted_ to apologise, but he was rooted to the spot.

“I hope it’s worth it,” Bri said, lips twisting up at the edges. And then he turned and walked quietly to the door, up the stairs, and out of sight.

 

It would be the last time Tony saw him again.

 

:i:

When Tony wakes the second time, it was dark.

It was dark and he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Bri?” he said. Or attempted to – what came out was a hoarse croak. He scrambled at his face, at whatever was obstructing each inhale and exhale; pulled it tortuously from his nose, coughing and spluttering. Each movement pulled at something painful and visceral around his chest and he sat up with a groan. Whatever bed he was lying on creaked in protest, sounding of rusty springs and metal pulled tight to exhaustion.

There was dust in the cool air, salty and coppery as Tony tore at the bandages around his chest because there was something heavy there, something foreign, something –

“Be careful,” came an unfamiliar voice from the shadows, “I wouldn’t pull that out if I were you.”

Tony jerked, startled. The sound of his own laboured breathing was too loud, too distracting in his own ears. Something shifted in the dark, and a man came into view. He was tall and thin, wearing glasses on the end of an angular nose. He was well dressed; a tidy if well-worn suit that seemed out of place to the rust that ran up and down the chair and bed that Tony was confined in.

The man was wearing a tie, and he was smiling. Behind him was a small, crackling fire. It was as if Tony’s senses were waking up one at a time, slowly coming back to him – because he could smell it now, the scent of food cooking. He couldn’t tell what it was, except that it was warm and his hands were shaking, resting on the metallic protrusion from his own flesh.

Tony thought he was going to throw up.

“What did you do to me?”

The stranger cocked his head to the side.

“What I did?” he repeated, “What I did is save your life.”

“Save my life?”

The stranger pulled up one of the small metal stools and sat down next to Tony’s bedside.

“The nanites,” he said, “They were headed to your atrial septum. I have seen many wounds like that in my city. We call them the walking dead because it takes about a week for it to reach the vital organs. Not this one. You had maybe…a day? Thirty hours at most. That – “ he pointed at the contraption in Tony’s chest, “is keeping the bots dormant. Not moving anymore. But of course, here, I could hardly remove them. I don’t think anyone could remove them. Too small.”

 _Organ targeting_ , thought Tony. _Brava, brava, brava._

“And how did you know how to do that?” he asked, not taking his eyes away from the man – doctor? He couldn’t see his eyes; the lens of the glasses reflected the firelight behind him into a silver sheen. It was like looking into a mirror, and Tony shuddered.

“That wasn’t the first time that particular bomb was detonated, I think,” said the stranger, mildly. “I have seen it before.”

Tony stared.

“And we’ve met before, as well,” the man continued, smiling at the edge of his mouth, “at a technical conference in Bern.”

A pause.

“I don’t remember,” said Tony.

The man laughed.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, “Your friend, Doctor Xavier, introduced us. You were very drunk at the time.”

 

:i:

 

They ask him to build the Jericho.

Tony says no.

What happens next is a blur of pain and choking water; over and over again. Eventually, there’s sunlight on his face, scorching and unforgiving – and the sight of weapons piled high.

 _Stark Industries,_ they said, like guilt branded into flesh, _Stark._

_Stark. Stark. Stark. Stark._

 

:i:

_five days later_

 

“You still haven’t told me where you’re from,” said Tony.

Yinsen rolled the dice.

“A small town named Gulmira,” he said, after a brief pause, “It’s actually a nice place.”

“Got a family?”

“Yes,” Yinsen said, and smiles. It’s a genuine one, if small. “And I will see them when I leave here.”

A pause.

“And what about you?” asked Yinsen, looking up from the game.

Tony rubbed the face of one of the wooden die with his thumb.

“Yeah,” he said, after a moment, “I have – well he’s not technically mine but.”

Tony shrugs, finding it difficult to form the words. They kept getting stuck at the back of his throat, unable to be articulated or swallowed again.

“He’s turning eight this year,” Tony said at last.

“What’s his name?” asked Yinsen, gently.

“Charles,” said Tony. “Bri’s from old money so I guess the names were on rotation. I call him Charlie most of the time anyway and – well…”

“I was sad to hear that Doctor Xavier passed away,” said Yinsen, still watching Tony with calm, steady eyes. “He was a good main. Brilliant man.”

“Yeah,” said Tony, eloquently.

 “Losing your parents is a hard thing,” said Yinsen, “But losing your children…” he trailed off, eyes fixed on a point behind Tony’s shoulder.

“You won’t,” said Tony, gruffly, “We’ll finish building this armour. We’ll get out. You’ll see them again in no time. How old are they?”

“Ten and fourteen,” said Yinsen.

“Charlie could do with some friends,” said Tony, “He’s a great kid. Eats all his vegetables. We could all take a holiday somewhere, after. Somewhere far away. Maybe New Zealand or Australia. Charlie loves animals, you know, I bought him a kitten for his last birthday and I think I’ll buy him another one, once…o-once I’m back.”

He stared at his hands. They shook when he tried to roll the dice again, sending the wooden things clattering to the ground.

Tony cursed, bending to retrieve them – but Yinsen beat him to it, deftly scooping them up. They clicked softly as he dropped them back onto the board, knocking against the battered sides. Four, six, two, one, three.

“It’s alright,” Yinsen says, quiet, calm and full of faith, “Stark? It is going to be alright.”

Tony buried his face in his hands.

 

:i:

 

 

> _Stark Tower, one week later._

It had been difficult, holding onto any semblance of anger. And it wasn’t David’s fault, really. Charles didn’t want to be angry with David. He wasn’t angry with anyone.

He just wanted Tony back.

 _I will learn how to not project,_ thought Charles, _I will be really normal,_ he promised, just as long as Tony came home.

Charles rubbed his right eye with his hand; it was prickly from his shower. David, who was towelling his hair dry, paused, catching Charles’ wrist in his hand.

“Don’t rub,” he said, “that will irritate it further.”

“Itchy,” said Charles.

David set the towel aside and moved off the bed, returning bare seconds later with a tiny bottle of eye-drops.

“Here,” he said, pushing Charles to lie down on his pillow, “This will feel better. Don’t rub it though.”

“Okay,” said Charles, obediently lying down and letting David squeeze a few drops into his eye. It was cool and vaguely tingly. He blinked rapidly.

At the foot of the bed, Robbie was licking the sole of Charles’ foot with grim determination, one paw on his toes to keep him still. It tickled, but Robbie got grumpy every time Charles moved his foot away and so he stayed put as David picked up the towel again and resumed drying Charles’ hair.

He smelt of Charles shampoo; apple and pomegranate. He also smelt faintly of Tony’s workshop.

“Do you want to go to bed right away,” asked David, “Or watch another episode?”

_What’s the next one?_

_< < It’s about penguins. >>_

Charles played with the edge of his duvet, rucked up near his knees.

“Okay,” he said.

Helpfully, the wall opposite the bed flicked on.

“Thanks Jarvis,” said Charles.

“You’re welcome,” said JARVIS, “shall I heat up some hot cocoa in the kitchen?”

“Me _row_ ,” said Robbie, perking up.

Charles hesitated.

“No,” he said, because hot chocolate was something Tony made for him.

“I’ll fetch some water,” said David, taking the towel away, “In case you get thirsty.”

“Okay,” said Charles, and watched as David got up to put the towel back in the bathroom. He wondered if David was worried about Tony; but all the worry he could feel was directed at Charles, and he couldn’t tell. David was always thinking about Charles; a steady, constant thrumming presence that was nothing like Tony at all.

David set down a translucent bottle on the night-stand, making Charles jump. He hadn’t even noticed the David leaving or returning. Charles shuffled over on his bed so David could climb in too, nestled up against their pillows by the headboard. JARVIS began playing the documentary, dimming the bedroom lights as the wall was suddenly awash with the blue grey of snow and ice.

The camera zoomed in to the dots that were actually penguins; waddling near the coastline.

‘The male emperor penguins have a faster form of transport than just walking,’ the narrator was saying, ‘they can toboggan.’

Charles leaned into David’s arm, and David obligingly lifted it to tuck Charles neatly to his side. He was very warm.

On screen, a baby penguin was eating food from its mother’s beak, nestled between its parent’s big feet and what looked to be very warm tummy. It would be very comfortable, to be a baby penguin, thought Charles. It would be like being carried in a fluffy sleeping bag all night.

 _I want a penguin,_ thought Charles.

 _< < It would be very difficult to keep,>>_ said David, _< < but we could visit the zoo again. >>_

Charles nodded drowsily.

‘After a long winter, the male penguins have lost almost half of their body weight,’ said the narrator, ‘but they are soon to be reunited with the females, where the parents will now take turn fishing for the chick. In such a big colony, calling is the best way to be reunited with family.’

The penguins made strange head bopping motions when they called, as if they were doing a strange dance.

“David?” said Charles, into David’s pyjamas.

“Yes?”

_I love you._

Don’t leave.

_< < I love you too. >>_

I won’t.

 

:i:

 

 

> _Afghanistan._

There’s blood on Yinsen’s shirt. It’s soaked with it; the lapels dark and wet, the shirt a burgundy wine. He’s sprawled half against the cave wall, his gun lying on the ground next to him ( _We need more time_ , he had said, _I’m going to buy you more time_ ). His glasses were unbroken, half reflecting the sunlight from the save entrance, even though his eyes were unfocussed.

“Come on,” Tony remembers saying, “Your family. They’re waiting remember? C’mon, stick to the plan.”

“They’re dead,” says Yinsen, and they are not words.

It is a sigh of relief.

“I’m going to see them now. And you’re…see your boy, yes? Go.”

Everything smells of blood, dust, and broken rock.

Yinsen is smiling though.

“It’s okay,” he says, and the words are whispers.

“It’s okay. I want this. I want this. I want this.”

 

:i:

 

Sometimes, Charles had nightmares about people who had no thoughts at all: Tony, David, Pepper, Mother, Papa. He didn’t have nightmares very often, and David was usually good with nightmares. But sometimes…sometimes Charles still woke up in the middle of the night, eyes wet, heart thumping from the not-alive people.

But David would always be there, hushing him soft and low in his throat, one hand smoothing back Charles’ hair which was sticking to his clammy skin, changing his pillow and giving him a glass of water.

 _< < I’m here, >>_ David would project, _< < I’m here.>>_

If the daytime was an inhale of thoughts and voices, night-time was the soft exhale, the relative quiet and lull of thoughts calmly asleep. There was less shouting, and Charles would lie next to David in his bed, listening to the animals sleep.

Sometimes, he wondered if he would be able to find Tony with his mutation – if only he could stretch out far enough, he might find Tony’s presence like a favourite sock in a cavernous drawer. He would stay very, very still and let his mind reach out, past the tower and the janitor on the fourth floor, past the taxi driver circling the block at six in the morning. He’d let his thoughts touch each presence as a marker, becoming lighter as he moved further and further away. The voices never became less clear; their thoughts were always like bell chimes, distinct and ringing.

It reminded him of the hide-and-seek games he used to play with Papa.

But the smallest things would snap Charles right back into his body – David patting his arm; Robbie on his knee, a shift in the pillow and Charles would be pulled right back into the solidity of his own body like a jarring slap in the face.

His limbs always felt abnormally heavy in the aftermath; like his body was not his own but merely an anchor to which his mind was trapped.

It made Charles feel useless, as if Tony was always just one mind out of reach.

 

:i:

Three days later.

:i:

                  _Afghanistan._

They find him at the lip of a sand dune, skin scorched raw by the sun, shoulders blistering and lips cracked with dried blood and sand. The rotor of the helicopters whipped the sand up into a frenzy, stinging the open wounds on Tony’s skin and he scrunched his eyes shut, even as he shouted, _Hey, Hey, I’m here, Hey!_ – even as he fell to his knees in relief.

And Rhodey hugs him like someone seeing a dead man, fingers digging painfully into Tony’s back.

“Next time you ride with me, okay?” he says and Tony can only half laugh, half choke out a sound that said _thank goodness, thank goodness I didn’t lose you too –_

 

 

It turns out that the arc reactor fractured more than a few ribs on its way in, leaving Tony’s chest a bruised mess. They couldn’t do much on the plane though, except clean all the superficial wounds and bandage them up. The medic insisted on putting Tony’s broken arm in a cast. It was red.

“And then,” said Tony, “I just went – “ he whistled, miming something falling to the ground from a great height, “- boom. Because I didn’t have time to make it flight ready.”

“You could have broken your neck,” said Rhodey, looking both peeved and impressed at the same time.

Tony clinked his glass at him. The taste of alcohol was surreal, and he downed it without remembering what he was actually drinking. He winced as the movement bumped his casted-elbow into his own chest. Everything hurt, now that everything stopped.

“Good to know you didn’t give up on me,” said Tony, after a moment, “I mean, for a moment there – “

“Don’t,” said Rhodey, suddenly serious, “Don’t say that.”

They lapsed into silence again, mutual apologies heavy in the air between them.

_I’m sorry for doubting._

And:

_I’m sorry for not coming sooner._

One of the soldiers poked his head around the curtain rail.

“Sir,” he said, nodding at the both of them, “Landing in ten.”

“So,” said Tony, “How many cameras will there be because I might need to go freshen up.”

Rhodey snorted into his drink.

“None,” he said.

“…and Obie?”

“Will meet us at the hospital.”

Tony sat up straighter in his seat.

“Uh, no. No hospitals. David can check me over once I’m home.”

“David - ?” Rhodey started, brow furrowing in confusion, and then he gave Tony a truly enormous frown, “Seriously Tony, you need proper medical attention – “

“Which David can give me. He’s literally the most qualified person you can find for…” he waved a hand vaguely at the arc reactor in his own chest, “…and…well. I need JARVIS and we’ll be good to go. No hospitals. I can’t stand the food there.”

“Tony – “

“Or the smell. Seriously. Terrible.”

“ _Tony_ – “

“Actually, do I smell? I smell bad, don’t I. I want a shower. No – a bath. In the pool. You’re invited.”

“Oh my god,” said Rhodey, giving up completely.

 

 

They were still in the air when a sensation slammed into Tony so hard he physically jerked back in his seat, dropping his drink in shock. He barely noticed it spilling; Rhodey shouting, standing over him, hand on his un-bandaged shoulder.

But all Tony was aware of was the bone-deep relief and screaming desperation; he felt like he was drowning in it, inside his own head.

**_Tony? TONY!_ **

_…Charlie?_

_TONY. TONY you’re real you’re here you’re here you’re back you’re back you’re back David not lying not lying, tony tony Tony I miss you love you **TONY** – _

“Jesus, someone get Bobby in here I think he’s going into shock – Tony? Tony, snap out of it.”

Tony never knew the sensation of sheer relief and joy could hurt so much, but it did hurt. It was like someone ripping the arc reactor right out of his chest again, opening up every doubt and fear he had in that cave until they were laid bare beside the skeleton of his guilt and thoughts of a promise to a friend gone and dead.

_I love you too buddy, hey, hey, it’s – you’re getting good at talking at long distances huh? Charlie?_

Clutching desperation. It made him feel hollow, with nothing to hold on to.

_I don’t know if I’m doing this right – can you hear…?_

**_\- miss you miss you you’re back, you came back –_ **

“We’re about to touch down, sir!”

“I don’t care! Tony. Fuck.”

A slap across his face.

Rhodey came back into focus, and with it the realisation that Tony had been crying. He wasn’t sure whether it was his own tears or Charles’.

“Charles,” he said, reflexively.

_Tony, Tony, Tony –_

“Yeah,” said Rhodey, hand still on Tony’s shoulder, “Yeah we all felt that – and we’re going to have a conversation about how you’ve been keeping a telepath and military projects under the same roof but …jesus, I thought you had gone into shock just now. Are you alright? With me?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” said Tony, as the plane began to slope. “Caught me by surprise.”

Rhodey was still staring at him.

“He insisted on coming. They’re in the car with Pepper.”

“They?”

“Charles, that freaky android and the dog.”

Tony felt a laugh, vaguely hysterical, bubble up in his chest.

 _You brought Max?_ he asked.

 _He missed you too_ , was the reply.

“Here,” said Rhodey, handing Tony a wet napkin.

Outside, the horizon levelled out as the wheels touched the ground with a rumble beneath their seats. Charles’ presence was so strong it felt as if they were right next to each-other, and absently Tony wondered if Charles’ projection had strengthened while he was gone, or whether he had been shielding all this time and this was just the first instance where he wasn’t trying to dampen his range.

The buildings came slowly into view as the plane turned in the direction of its hanger, slowing down. Tony could see the cars, lined up.

He glared down the suggestion of a wheelchair and only grudgingly allowed Rhodey to steer him off through the cargo hold, one hand at his good elbow.

 

In the end, Tony never even made it off the ramp.

The partitions had barely lowered when where was a shout, both physical and telepathic.

**_TONY_ **

And the next thing, Charles was running across the tarmac, arms outstretched in front of him. He was wearing his Captain America hoodie, matching navy trousers and sneakers. Close on his heels was David who was dressed in his usual Stark Industries work shirt and pressed slacks. He was close enough to catch Charles as the latter tripped, having tried sprinting too fast – and if it hadn’t been for David’s inhuman reflexes, Charlie would have gone sprawling. As it were, David caught him by the armpit, setting him back on his feet.

Tony didn’t remember falling to his knees (though there will be bruises later to prove it). But he would never forget what it felt like when Charles barrelled into him, windmilling arms and all, clutching at Tony around the neck in a mess of tears, snot and Tony’s own name repeated over and over like a mantra.

“ – _Hey_ ,” was all Tony was able to say: it was choked out of him. He wrapped his good arm around Charles and crushed him to his chest, ignoring the flaring pain in favour of burying his face in Charles’ hair.

It was soft, and smelt painfully of home.

“Tony,” Charles was still saying into the crook of Tony’s collar, words falling out between hiccupping sobs, “…back. You’re back. _You’re back._ You came back.”

“Of course I did,” said Tony, “I promised, didn’t I?”

A wail.

Tony clutched Charles closer, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel the hard outline of the arc reactor, heavy and foreign still, pressing up against his soul and Charles’ sweater.

“Don’t cry,” he said at last, even though there were tears on his own face, “Turn off the waterworks, huh?”

“I love you,” said Charles, still clutching Tony around the neck. _I love you I love you please don’t leave again please don’t leave_

Tony thought his heart might have stopped.

“I won’t,” he said, projecting the words as loudly as he could, _I love you too. God I thought I’d lost you, I thought I’d never see you again never said goodbye properly be like Brian, I love you so much Charlie listen to me, love you, okay, never said –_

__

 

A very small voice:

_Can we go home now?_

 “Yes,” said Tony out loud, clearing his throat. “Yes we – let’s do that.”

He looked up at long last, squinting a little because his eyes were sore from crying and the sun was bright. He realised everyone had been watching, standing a little way away. Pepper was standing near Happy next to the car, looking as beautiful as Tony remembered her to be.

Rhodey tapped Tony on the back.

“You alright?”

“Yes. Yes I’m – I don’t need that, you kidding?”

The stretcher was obligingly pulled back.

Tony tried to stand and hoist Charles up onto his hip at the same time – but he couldn’t do it with one arm in a sling. David stepped forward, and it was with great reluctance that Tony allowed him to take Charles out of his embrace.

And although it was barely a minute, Tony felt overwhelmingly bereft.

 

:i:

 

When they folded themselves into the car, JARVIS said, _“Welcome home, sir,”_ in that familiar, disembodied way of his.

Tony’s knees buckled at the sound.

He never knew relief could be so terrifying.

 

:i:

 

 

> _Stark Tower, NYC. A few hours later._

 

Food came first, because it was a ritual Tony knew and needed.

It was just him, Charlie, David and JARVIS by then: Rhodey had gone off to see Obie and Pepper had headed in the other direction to deal with the imminent flow of press, and the board.

“There’s a press conference set for tomorrow,” Pepper had said in the car on the ride over, looking doubtful and chewing her bottom lip, “Obediah – “

“Cancel it,” said Tony, looking at Charles and wanting nothing more than to just go _home_.

They made pizza for dinner – sitting on wooden stools around the kitchen island, under lights turned soft and yellow with the sound of the budgies chirping sleepily in the background in their cages, and the occasional hopeful meow from a cat who missed human company but was too proud to admit it was so. Max sat at Tony’s feet, quiet but for the soft thump of his metal tail against the chair leg.

It turned out that neither he nor Charlie were particularly hungry: Tony managed three slices and Charles managed two before they both gave up. (By the time they finished the pizza was cold; Charlie kept missing his mouth because he was too scared to look away from Tony for too long, the fear and anxiety palpable over their mental link. It was raw, like an embrace with scraped skin and stinging eyes.)

Tony coughed, and David slid a glass of water neatly into his hands, expression Mildly Concerned.

“Thanks,” said Tony, gulping the water down.

Charles fidgeted with his fork.

“I’m full,” said Tony with faux casualness, “those were big pieces.”

Charles nodded, mute.

“…Do you want any dessert?”

Then Charles yawned, clearly exhausted. Whether it was Tony’s own fatigue that had bled over, or Charles’ own, or a combination of both – Tony couldn’t tell. But he could feel sleep pulling at his bones, accompanied by the flooding fear of nightmares and the dark. He blinked hard, draining the rest of his glass.

“Sir,” said JARVIS, and god Tony had missed his voice, “Might I suggest you conduct a brief medical exam before retiring for the evening?”

“…Uh,” said Tony “Rhodey did that already.”

“It was cursory at best, sir,” said JARVIS reproachfully, “David will be able to be much more thorough. We have the facilities in the lab.”

“Right,” said Tony, distracted.

Beside him, David was clearing the plates over to the kitchen sink. He had produced a glass of juice from nowhere, pressed thick and pulpy. He set it down in front of Charles with a paper napkin and a comforting pat to the hair, and Charles leaned into it. The routine nature of the entire exchange made something close up in Tony’s throat.

“I have been running the diagnostics from the bio-scan in the lift, sir,” said David, turning on the kitchen taps automatically and letting the warm water run over the dirty plates. “Would you like to hear the assessment?”

He smiled at Tony, a mild expression. All his expressions were mild; designed for comfort and care. Tony designed them. He should know.

“…Sir?”

 _David thinks you should go down to the lab,_ said Charles suddenly, little mouth pressed into a line, _and your chest hurts._

Tony flinched.

_Am I projecting it too loudly? I’m sorry kiddo._

A reassuring warmth, hastily pushed out like a blanket. _No! …well I can just feel it. It must hurt a lot. David has medicine for it to make it better. Please? David can help._

“A blood sample would…speed things up,” said David.

“If you’d prefer,” JARVIS offered, “I can call a car for the hospital – “

Tony set down his glass with an exaggerated sigh, sliding off his stool. Charles beamed at him and clambered down after. Max gave a soft bark, skittering across the hard-wood floor to nudge at Charles’ sock clad feet.

_Had Charles’ gotten taller?_

Tony couldn’t tell. It felt like an age had passed since he last stood in this living room. He felt immeasurably tired.

“Alright,” he said, trying to sound cheerful, “Alright the lab it is. Then bed time, Charlie.”

 _Bedtime,_ Charles agreed, and held Tony’s hand all the way down to the labs.

 

 

Dummy, Butterfingers and You were all extremely excited to see Tony – they whirred over in sync as soon as the lab doors hissed open, Dummy chirping and plucking at Tony’s hair and shirt, as if checking him over. For a long moment, Tony couldn’t do anything except stand there, blinking as he took in a room he never thought he would see again.

“What are you all doing here?” he said, patting Dummy on the arm joint, “Hey? Are you slacking off?”

“They are simply happy to see you, sir,” said JARVIS. “And preparing the table.”

It wasn’t Tony’s main lab – that was two floors up. This particular lab contained most of the medical equipment, including the adapted MRI Charles had been through, all those months ago. There were plastic sheeting over most of the machinery, but all the surfaces were spotless. A few coffee mugs littered a kitchenette in the corner, including one Tony remembered leaving down here.

He wasn’t sure why he expected things to be different, but it was a very long pause later before he could move any further into the lab. Charles nudged him, a silent but faint question mark.

David moved past the both of them towards a slightly reclined table near the wall of the lab.

“Light of my life, J,” said Tony, letting go of Charles’ hand to double clap. “Right, let’s do this.”

 _David says I should go back to my room,_ interjected Charles, pouting, _tell him I’m staying. Tony?_

“Are you two talking behind my back?” said Tony, looking from David to Charles and then back again, “Do we need visual cues? I feel left out.”

“I suggested that Charles might not want to stay for the examination,” said David, hands flat in a placating gesture. “He may be upset.”

“I won’t!” protested Charles, lurching sideways to hang onto Tony’s hand again. He _felt_ upset, the emotion coming off him in waves like a radio. Thrumming at the back of their minds was a stream of whispering fear – the thought of something disappearing from sight and not coming back. Tony squeezed the little hand in his own, leading him to the sofa near the kitchenette. Robbie and Max followed with pattering feet.

“How about you sit here while David gives me the check up,” said Tony quietly, “You can see us from here right?”

Charles didn’t let go of his hand, and was quiet for few minutes. Tony caught flashes, phrases skimming across the consciousness – a strange feed back of a telepathic conversation that was taking place between David and Charles. He wondered how often they did this, instead of talking out loud, alone in the Tower. It made him feel faintly sick with regret and guilt.

 _Okay,_ said Charles unhappily.

Dummy whirred over then, clanking over something in the sink before there was a very loud burst of mechanic whirring. Then Charles was presented with a glass of something pink.

“There is no motor oil in this one, sir,” said JARVIS, and really – are all Tony’s AIs telepathic now? – “It is merely strawberries and banana.”

Charles took the glass from Dummy, finally sitting down on the sofa. Robbie jumped up next to him, purring and rubbing his head on Charles’ lap, curling in a fluffy ball into his side while Max settled down over Charles’ feet.

“Shall we begin?” called David, “It should not take long, sir.”

“Yeah,” said Tony, tearing his eyes away from Charles as his little face disappeared behind the wide brim of the tall glass, “Yeah, let’s.”

 

 

There was a very brief moment when the glow of the lights above him, and David’s silhouette, made Tony’s heart stutter to a halt; stricken with déjà vu. But then JARVIS was dimming the lights above him to a soft, warm glow and the sound of Tony’s favourite playlist in the background (when had that started playing?) grounded him like an anchor tied to the base of one’s spine.

And Charles was there, a presence Tony had never realised he had grown accustomed to until it was gone from his head, echoing with the sound of loss it had left there in that cold cave.

Tony’s shirt lay folded on a near by chair whilst David deftly extracted a sample of blood from Tony’s arm. Half of it was slotted back in its glass casing, and a display sprang up above it as the analytics began to run. The digital glow of red and blue was familiar and comforting, and Tony kept it in his peripheral vision.

Dipping his finger to Tony’s blood sample, David put it in his mouth.

 _Ewww!_ said Charles.

“Okay,” said Tony, pointing at his android, “I know I gave you very advanced sensors on your tongue but there’s no way that – do not do that around Pepper.”

David tilted his head slightly to the right.

“I am able to detect all known poisons and toxins in this fashion,” said David, “I check all of Charles’ food. I see no reason why it should not work with this.”

“Slightly morbid,” said Tony. “But still. Better safe than sorry.”

“Precisely, sir,” said JARVIS.

“I’m going to examine the reactor now,” he said, voice low and soothing. It was a question, not a statement – and Tony nodded from where he was lying back. But even the warning couldn’t stop him flinching when he felt David’s hand brush against the rim where the arc reactor met skin.

The hand paused – followed by a rush of telepathic hugs from Charles.

_Are you okay?_

_Yes,_ said Tony, a little more sharply than he intended. He exhaled slowly. _Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry, Charlie._

David was hovering one hand over Tony’s chest and the arc reactor, moving it in systematic motions inches above the skin. Scanning. His fingers were splayed out straight, palm flat. Nothing twitched, like a human hand might, and there was no shaking that came with natural respiration: in, out, in, out _slowly does it, easy, in…out._

“It is running interference,” said David after a moment, “For the nanites?”

“Yeah, said Tony, voice a little hoarse, “I – couldn’t get it out obviously. Had to figure something else. Is it still working?”

A pause.

“The nanites are dormant,” said David.

Tony choked out a half laugh, half coughing sob – relief making him boneless on the table in that moment. On the sofa, Charles sat up straighter, his presence curling around Tony like Robbie curling around cold feet.

“JARVIS?”

“The imaging seems promising, sir,” he said, pulling up a holographic projection of Tony’s chest above him. There were black-silver dots everywhere, static upon the orbit of Tony’s Arc Reactor. It was a gruesome thing to see, and Tony couldn’t look away.

“So if we keep this thing powered up,” he said, tapping the glass of the arc reactor with his knuckle.

“The nanites were not designed to be re-directed,” said JARVIS, “an interference core may be the most prudent option, sir. But perhaps not this particular core.”

“Why – “

“Because your blood shows signs an abnormal presence of Palladium,” said David.

Tony froze.

“What’s that?” piped up Charles from his sofa.

“A type of element,” supplied JARVIS smoothly, “Like the ones on the periodic table.”

“Oh,” said Charles, looking unalarmed, and Tony tried to lock down his own emotions. David had a very strange expression on his face – it was carefully blank; and Tony was coming to associate that blankness with telepathic conversation. Could David shield Charles for him?

They needed to put Charlie to bed before Tony freaked out and Charles freaked out and –

“Breathe,” said David, placing a warm hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I am running simulations for alternative cores as we speak.”

“Right,” said Tony, propping himself up on one elbow, “How far along – I mean, how long do I have?”

“We can subdue the symptoms for now,” said David, “The simulations will take two hours and thirty four minutes. I am positive there will be a match.”

Tony waved at the machine to his right, without much hope.

“JARVIS, is that right? Palladium. It… wasn’t really on my mind when we made – …either this or a car battery and we didn’t have enough of those lying around that cave.”

“Unfortunately David’s prognosis matches mine, sir,” said JARVIS.

“Okay,” said Tony.

He should get an award for how calm.

He took a deep breath.

_…are you okay?_

“Yeah,” said Tony, pulling his shirt back on. “Yeah, I’m okay buddy. Though you – you’re in big trouble.” He hopped off the table, ignoring David’s offer of help, and made his way back to the sofa.

“It is bed time.”

Charles and Robbie turned twin expressions of blue-eyed innocence upon Tony. His empty smoothie glass was whisked away by David before it could roll off the sofa.

“But – “

“C’mon, shower time. Then brushing teeth. Then bed. I’m f-udging tired,” said Tony.

Charles reached for Tony’s hand and Tony took it with his good hand.

 _I don’t wanna go to bed,_ said Charles stubbornly, even as they made their way slowly up the stairs, David, Max and Robbie trailing them. They took the lift the rest of the way to the top of the tower, and JARVIS deposited them on Charle’s floor. The windows were still clear, reflecting the cityscape light from the balcony pool outside until it shimmered over the wall, ceiling and wooden floor. There were quiet chirps from the bird cage, and bubbling from the fish tank – but otherwise everything was quiet.

Charles yawned, fingers clutched around Tony’s thumb.

Tony blinked hard, and wiped the wetness away from his eyes.

“You liar,” he said gently, “That was a big yawn.”

Charles nodded absently, projecting his exhaustion.

“I can take it from here, “ said David, picking Charles up to rest against his hip as he opened the bedroom door. “I will just make sure Charles is settled in first, then I can help you with – “

“No,” said Tony, “No I don’t need – I mean, stay up here with Charlie. I’ll be fine.”

 _Nooo,_ Charles projected, reaching out an arm for Tony form his position over David’s shoulder, “Stay.”

“I smell too, buddy,” said Tony, “Gotta have a shower, right?”

The hand drooped.

_Oh. Okay._

Tony wriggled his fingers next to his temple.

“I’ll be right downstairs, yeah?”

Charles nodded, eyes never leaving Tony’s face.

“If you want me, I’ll be right up.”

_Promise?_

_Promise._

He should probably go back to the lab. Find something to replace what was slowly poisoning him from the inside out. It was like listening to a clock tick, winding down steadily. It tasted like inevitability, and Tony was too tired for fear. He wanted to hold Charles until he fell asleep, and hide in the tangibility of that love.

Instead, let David usher a sleepy Charles into the bedroom en-suite.

After a moment, and with great care, Tony closed the door.

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Charles, Max, Robbie and David came piling into Tony’s bedroom. Charles was clutching both of his pillows.

Tony had just finished his shower, towelling his hair dry one-handed and contemplating whether detouring to the kitchen for coffee was a viable option, or whether he should just head straight downstairs.

“Uh,” he said.

Charles’ fingers tightened in his pillow, eyes going round and wet. His hair was sticking up all over the place.

_Don’t want to be on my own wanna sleep with you please please pleeeeaaaseee –_

“Charles insisted,” said David as way of explanation.

Tony set his towel down on the back of a chair and sat on the edge of his bed. Charles came rushing over, clambering up and setting his pillows next to Tony.

“Hey,” he said, “I thought you were going to bed.”

Instead of replying, Charles simply pushed a jumbled sense of emotions at Tony, anxiety worry and relief rolled into one desperate fear when Tony wasn’t in sight. At their feet, Robbie meowed piteously while Max circled the bed.

 _I missed you,_ said Charles, sniffling.

Tony felt his throat choke up.

“Yeah,” he said, voice faltering, “Me too.”

Then Charles flung his arms around Tony’s middle in a tight hug, face pressed into Tony’s shoulder until Charles’ hair tickled his chin. And Tony gave in, wrapping his good arm around Charles and pressing them tight together, breathing in and smothering his own tears on a long exhale.

“Okay,” said Tony, “You can sleep here tonight. But don’t hog the blankets okay?”

Charles nodded, mute.

Tony looked up at David over the top of Charles’ hair.

“You’ll wake me up once the simulations are done running,” he said.

“Of course, sir,” said David, inclining his head.

“Charlie,” said Tony, patting Charles on the back. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

Charles nodded, face still buried in Tony’s shoulder.

“Okay. Well. I haven’t so let me up?”

After a long pause, Charles loosened his arms, scooting back to allow Tony to stand up from the bed. He dragged both pillows to the headboard and squashed them in next to Tony’s own. As Tony brushed his teeth in the en suite, he could see David pulling back the duvet covers for Charles, tucking him in like he probably did every night.

Tony spat out a mouthful of tooth paste and splashed water on his face. As he left the bathroom, JARVIS dimmed the lights. The glow of the arc reactor grew brighter, a blue that lit up the front of Tony’s undershirt and his neck.

David was placing Robbie on the bed next to Charles when Tony closed the bathroom door.

“So where am I gonna sleep,” said Tony, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Charles patted the space on his other side.

Tony got in under the duvet covers, trying not to think about the fear curdling his stomach at the very thought of unconsciousness. He reached for Charles instead, letting the presence of him drive away the instinctive terror. Slowly, Tony eased himself back onto the pillows.

“Do you need extra pillows?” asked David, moving closer. He had placed water on the bed side table, and the night light across the room was glowing.

Tony waved him away, turning to lie on his good arm – so he could see Charles from where he was. Charles turned too, curling in towards Tony with Robbie a ball of fluff at his back. Charles’ eyes were dropping with sleepiness, even though he kept trying to jerk them open.

“The simulations,” Tony repeated, “Wake me.”

“We will, sir,” said JARVIS.

Charles edged closer, until he placed one small hand across the arc reactor. It blocked the light momentarily, throwing them into darkness.

 _Bright,_ said Charles, with no trace of disgust or fear.

Yeah, said Tony. _Are you sure you can sleep? I can go put on a black tshirt._

 _No,_ said Charles, _with a curious expression on his face, light is good._

On the other side of the room, David settled himself into a chair facing the windows and door. A sleepless guardian, counting down the clock.

Tony closed his eyes, face pillowed on the comfort that Charles was actively projecting, even in his half-asleep state. The sensations tangled in Tony’s hair like their combined breaths in the semi darkness, coloured blue and yellow. Charles’ hand eventually went slack, fingers curled into a little fist against the arc reactor.

Tony’s arm was slowly loosing feeling, laying as it was beneath Charles – but he couldn’t bear to pull out of the loose embrace. He could feel Charles breathe under his palm, his back rising and falling in steady, quiet breaths. Tony breathed out, slowly, shaking. His eyes stung behind closed lids.

They fell asleep like that; found at last.

 

:i:

 

It wasn’t David or JARVIS who woke Tony.

 

:i:

 

Charles didn’t know where he was.

It was disorienting – which way was up and which was down? He tried to take a breath but instead water rushed into his mouth and nose, stinging and painful and he tried to get out, swim up, breathe – but there was something holding him down, hands pressing on his shoulders, his neck, his head. He tried to twist out from underneath, but his wrists rubbed against something harsh and slick, the sensation numbed with repetition.

The water was choking him, a stinging burning in his lungs as he tried to cough outwards but only succeeded in inhaling more water. His chest hurt, like it had never hurt before.

Then the hands were dragging him up, tearing at his hair and Charles choked out a sob, trying to reach out with his mind, to _stop them._

Except the blurry figures had no thoughts. They were empty blanks, not-quite-humans who were shouting at Charles, shaking him, punching him across the face with a metal-knuckled fist over and over and over and over and –

 _David?_ He tried, desperate, _David? Tony? Papa?_

There was nothing.

Charles couldn’t hear what they were thinking at all. He couldn’t hear what anyone was thinking, there was only blank words and violence; a kick to his chest that made his vision white out, and he screamed as they pulled him upright again. He could see what it was now; a barrel of cold water. But before he could protest, they pushed his head into it again in a rush bubbles and darkness and Charles had forgotten to take a deep breath. He held it now, trying to recall the afternoons spent in the pool with David.

 _Don’t panic,_ David had said, _You will float. Just relax._

 _DAVID???_ Charles tried again, and he couldn’t be sure whether he screamed that out loud or merely in his head – the only sound was the desperate gurgle of water as he tried in vain to get up, get up, need to breathe –

_David? David, David, David!_

Then someone was pressing a searing hot _something_ to the back of Charles’ neck, burning the skin there, and it _hurt!_ He screamed into the water and into the void that was in his head, heart racketing skywards until it was struggling to burst from his throat and –

_< < CHARLES! >> _

 

– without warning, the water and shouting ghosts vanished in a rush, and Charles was screaming into air, not a barrel of water. He could hear David and Tony, thoughts and voices, not empty shells of phantoms.

But they were shouting too.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_! Charlie wake up! _Charles!_ ”

Someone was shaking him so hard that Charles’ head rattled. There were arms gripping his shoulders. Charles panicked – was Tony here with the faceless ghosts too? He tried to jerk backwards, trying to get away from the hands and the screaming.

It was a long while before Charles realised the sound was coming from his own chest and David was projecting more loudly than he had ever done before, the words layered over his voice as he tried to talk over Tony’s frantic shouts.

_< < CHARLES. YOU ARE AWAKE. IT WAS JUST A NIGHT MARE. CHARLES? CHARLES. >>_

_…David?_

“Charlie. Charlie, are you with me? Charlie? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Oh god.”

Charles coughed, hiccupping. He felt sick, and the back of his neck still burned. Slowly, the room came into focus past his tears.

Tony was right there, hands still on Charles’ shoulders, face stricken with panic and his own tears. David had one palm on Charles’ face, fingers holding Charles’ hair back from his forehead as Charles heaved in desperate breaths.

He was shaking.

Distantly, he thought he could hear Robbie’s distressed yowling.

 _David?_ He asked again, _Tony?_

 _< < It was a night mare,>>_ said David, stroking Charles’ hair, _< < Tony was projecting and you were asleep. My guess is that you were telepathically susceptible to those projected thoughts, while unconscious. The proximity may have been a determinative factor. >>_

“It’s just a dream,” Tony was babbling, pulling Charles closer with his good arm, to press their foreheads together, “Just a dream, Charlie, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. I’m so sorry.”

“Hurts,” Charles managed to say, because it did.

Tony made a pained sound, torn from the back of his throat. He was shaking too; Charles could feel it through the fingers still digging into his arms.

“Christ,” he was saying, over and over, _need to leave, put more distance – maybe it will dampen – no, doesn’t work that way, need to work on some kind of telepathic shielding, wonder if lead would work as a dampener, Christ can’t let this happen again no, no, no._

“No,” said Charles, hugging Tony as best as he could. The room was cold now; he felt his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat and fear. He could feel the strange device in Tony’s chest, through his night shirt, the hard metal rim of it pressing against Charles’ cheek as he tried to wrap his arms around Tony’s middle. “Don’t go.”

_\- palladium, palladium poisoning by proximity what the fuck was I thinking need to leave, need to check on the –_

“David,” Tony said, voice hoarse, “How long until the simulations are done?”

“Two minutes and sixteen seconds, sir,” said David, who was trying to pry Charles back, “I have found four matches with above ninety percent chances of compatibility.”

“All synthesized?”

“Yes,” said David.

Tony begun pushing Charles away, but Charles clung on.

“Charlie. It’s not – I don’t want you getting any more nightmares from me,” said Tony, pulling one of Charles arm free with his own good arm. Charles clung on tighter with his other one, burying his face in Tony’s shirt.

“I’ll fix this, it won’t happen again,” Tony was saying, “I promise. But you need to give me time, Charlie.”

 _Don’t go_ , said Charles.

_Buddy –_

Tony’s eyes looked strained, wide and sunken in the light of his chest-battery-device-thing. Charles tried covering up the light with his hands but stopped with Tony flinched.

“David,” said Tony, “take Charlie back to his room, okay?”

“No!” said Charles, why weren’t they listening to him? “No, you _promised!_ ”

“I’m just going downstairs, so you can sleep without being – without being like this. David, take Charles up to his room now. Make sure he stays there.”

“No, no, I don’t want to,” said Charles holding on to Tony’s shirt – and when that didn’t work, he said, “Jarvis? Jarvis!”

“Please don’t be upset, Charles,” said JARVIS from the ceiling, “Sir will be merely downstairs. I can provide an visual feed to the screen in your room if you’d like.”

 _< < Charles, sir needs to examine the simulations. It is very, very important. >>_ said David, reaching for Charles and hoisting him up by the armpits, even as Charles twisted, trying to get back to Tony who was all alone, pale blue on the bed. He felt his eyes stinging with tears, and his neck still hurt, his throat raw with screaming. David was projecting his usual calm, a rolling stream of conscious scenes drenched in warmth and sunlight, but Charles pushed them away, like putting in ear plugs to block out noise.

Tony was rubbing his own eyes with the heel of his hand, spine bowed. There was still that eerie blue glow coming from beneath his shirt.

Charles’ skin still burned with phantom pain.

 _< < Please don’t cry,>>_ said David, even as he carried Charles off the bed and towards the door.

_No, no, no night mare, I can stop it I can be better, Tony?_

But for the first time, Tony was thinking of a wall; concentrating so hard the sensation was a vivid barrier of cold rock against the skin.

David’s mind was a cradle of comfort, as consistent and reliable as the ocean. But…

_Tony?_

It was a tall wall, grey and made of smooth granite stone – and Charles could barely hear anything at all.

_…Tony?_

:i:

 

_One week later._

 

Once Tony had managed to dull his panic to a background hum rather than a full blown seizure, he had thrown on a t-shirt and took the lift to one of the labs closest to ground floor (further away from Charles, oh god what had he been thinking – the thought of what happened in that cave happening to Charles made Tony dry heave into the sink for several long minutes; stomach churning with fear and horror.)

Then he proceeded to consume an inordinate amount of caffeine.

It worked, sort of. He must have slept at some point; and during the day Charles would stubbornly sit with him in the lab until David forcibly carried him off to bed.

Pepper came and went every day, getting more and more agitated with each message relayed from Obie – _no, he can’t really wait Tony, I need you to take a look at this. Yes, now, what do you mean you – Tony!_

They made sandwiches together, Robbie and Max circling their ankles, while the projectors hung with buzzing calculations and scrolling text.

It took a full week for David and Tony to synthesize the new element; JARVIS running contingencies all the while. But now, it was sitting in its translucent casing – glowing slightly as David bent over it with a pair of metal clips – arc reactor version 2.0 sitting on the vacated bench next to them.

It was four thirty in the morning, and Tony felt like death.

Emphasis on _felt_ like; because he could be dead very soon, judging by the spectacular criss-crossing lines his veins were playing across his neck.

David dropped the element into its slot within the arc reactor, which sighed as it accepted the new core, miniature blades rising to enclose it as David carefully fitted the back casing in. There was a sudden, heavy pause as JARVIS said:

“Initialising…”

Everyone held their breaths. (well Tony held his breath; David only pretend to breathe at the best of times.)

“New core compatible, sir,” said JARVIS. “Congratulations.”

Tony couldn’t help the burst of semi-hysterical laughter that bubbled up, rocking his chest with the force of it – a floodtide of relief threatening to overfill his lungs. He took the new arc reactor from David, popping out the old one from his chest and inserting the new in a quick series of mechanical clicks. It jolted when it connected into place, a punch of electricity to the gut that made Tony jerk upright and David dart forwards in concern:

“Are you alright?” he said, placing one hand on Tony’s shoulder. At once, a screen flicked into being to their right, showing Tony’s vitals and a beeping line of heartbeats.

“Yeah,” said Tony, a little breathlessly, “Yeah I’m – whoa! Fuck. That felt. I feel _good!_ ”

“Heart rate rapidly returning to normal, sir,” said JARVIS.

David peered at Tony’s eyes, his own eyeballs flickering as he took stock of Tony’s readings. Seemingly satisfied, he pulled away, arm falling back to his side. Stationary. He tilted his head very slightly to the right.

“Well done, sir,” he said.

Tony leaned back in his chair, grabbing the nearest mug and downing it. Cold coffee. Possibly more than one day old.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” said Tony with a groan.

He tapped the arc reactor in his chest.

Did it feel heavier? Brighter? Tony closed his eyes.

“Perhaps it is time for you to sleep,” said David, mildly, and Tony heard the sound of his mug being taken away, “You have not slept for nearly three days. Charles is worried.”

Tony frowned, eyes still closed. Low blow.

“He’s in bed?”

“Yes,” said David, “I gave him a mild dose of sedatives for this evening, in case this trial run offered unintended telepathic stimuli. He is still sleeping.”

Tony rubbed his eyes hard before opening them.

“Good,” he said, biting down on the guilt, “Good. Any more nightmares?”

There was a pause.

“A few,” said David, “But I can interfere as long as he is projecting.”

“We need to – I need to look into that, actually. As long as I’m around he’s going to need a way to block out the…well, it would be helpful later on too, when he needs to go to school.”

Tony started for the work-bench again but JARVIS collapsed the displays even before he got there.

“David is right, sir,” he said reproachfully, “You really should sleep.”

Perhaps it was Tony’s imagination, but the new arc reactor glowed brighter than it did before, heavier (though it was lighter); like the weight of a pendulum at a stand still. He glanced up at the ceiling, one hand on the glass of the lab door. When had he gotten there?

“Sir?” asked David.

And he looked so human in that moment, it made Tony cold to the bones. In one hand, David was still holding the old arc reactor.

“Yeah,” said Tony, wetting his lips. “I’m going to check on Charlie first. Clear up down here, yeah?”

There was no flicker in David’s expression, no trace of hesitation at all. But still, Tony felt it like the air compressing beneath the weight of a pause.

“Of course,” said David, turning smartly on his heels; as willing to clean up a laboratory as he was saving Tony’s life.

He stopped, at the foot of the stairs.

“David.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you.”

David did pause this time, chin tilting ever so slightly to the left. For some reason, the movement rooted Tony where he stood.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Would you like anything to eat before you sleep?”

Tony blinked.

“No…no, I’m gonna check on Charlie and then take a shower.”

Tony left, with a strange feeling he could not shake.

 

It took him all twenty steps of the stair-case before the realisation hit him like a punch to the gut; that small tilt of the head, to the left (and always to the left). It was the same thing Charlie did whenever he was surprised or slightly confused.

 _Learning machine_ , thought Tony, dazed. He looked back down at the workshop, then at the stained-print of his own hands.

 

:i:

 

The day Gulmira is burned to ashes, Stark Industries holds its annual gala.

Pepper goes in lieu of Tony, as she always does. Obie frowns, but that is all. At the bar, a reporter would corner Pepper with printed photographs, smudged with accusations, fingerprints hot like brands. _‘Does Tony Stark know?’_ she would ask, and Pepper would promise to take the pictures with her. But she still has half the floor to greet, and so she would hand the pictures to Happy, who would leave them in the car. (It is JARVIS who notices, and David who finds them. But that comes later. Too late.)

The day Gulmira is burned to ashes, Tony Stark isn’t there.

“Strawberries or mangos, buddy?”

Charles looks terribly torn with indecision.

Tony puts them both into the blender and they take their smoothies to the balcony to drink; the glass shutters down to keep away the night wind.

Beneath them, New York stretches out in a lattice of lights and Tony Stark has no thought for war, or fire, or ashes.

 

:i:

 

 

> _One month later._

Charles gave Tony a mental nudge to get his attention from where he was tugging a steel workbench into view. He had sat Charles down on one of the couches in the lab, near the wall and out of the way, but insisted that neither Robbie nor Max be allowed in the lab at all. They were both currently sitting just beyond the glass door, sulking.

 _??_ Tony sent back, vaguely distracted. Out loud, he said: “Okay, shirt off.”

David obligingly took his shirt off.

“Are you sure it won’t hurt?” asked Charles, biting his lip.

“Not one bit,” Tony reassured him.

 _< < I can easily turn off my sensory inputs,>>_ said David, _< < no pain receptors, as such. >>_

 _Okay…_ said Charles, eyeing the instruments on the next bench over suspiciously. They looked very sharp; and there were also a whole set of strange, long looking screwdrivers. And a pen-thing that whirred very softly as it sat there, warming up.

“Sir is just giving David a new battery,” JARVIS said, helpfully, “David is designed to receive upgrades. This is not out of the ordinary at all.”

Tony had said the same thing earlier. Just a new battery. Something that wouldn’t need charging, so David didn’t have to return to his charging station so regularly. Something just like the glowing glass thing in Tony’s own chest; a night light.

“Will it look like yours?” asked Charles, curiously, pointing at David’s chest as David lay down on the steel bench. He was turning onto his stomach though.

“Nah,” said Tony, “The batteries in his back, near where the human intestines are.”

“You put David’s heart in his tummy?” asked Charles, confused.

Outside the lab, Robbie batted the glass with his paws, looking thoroughly put out.

“David doesn’t have a tummy,” said Tony, tossing two nano-balls into the air and letting them snap onto his hands like liquid gloves. Charles loved the nano-balls. They were fun to throw around until they got stuck to the ceiling and became part of the light fixture. Something must have shown on his face because Tony came over to the couch and handed him one of the balls – it immediately snuck around Charles wrist like a happy snake and promptly turned it self into a wristwatch.

Tony sat down next to him. In his other hand he held a case with a glowing reactor. It was just like the one in his own chest – Charles could see a faint glowing outline against the dark fabric of Tony’s favourite tshirt.

“Okay,” he said, radiating a buzz of anxiousness that made Charles turn towards him, “Okay. So. This shouldn’t take long. In and out.”

Charles nodded.

“But to prevent any hiccups, I’m going to take David offline while I switch in the new arc reactor.”

Charles froze.

Turn him off…? He thought, eyes darting to David’s face.

 _< < No,>>_ said David at the same time as Tony said “Well, sorta – “

 _< < I’m still functioning in the mainframe,>>_ said David, quickly, sensing Charles’ impending panic, _ << but as you cannot sense JARVIS telepathically, sir is worried that you will not be able to sense my presence either, while I am in the servers. He just wants you to be prepared so you won’t be surprised.>>_

“…wont’ be gone for long,” Tony was saying, “three seconds. That okay?”

Charles clutched the pocket of his hoodie.

“ _Charles?_ JARVIS, maybe we should try keeping David online through the old charger – I don’t want Charlie freaking out.”

“No,” said Charles, swallowing hard, “No I’m okay. Will David be better, after?”

“Much better,” said David, “I will only need to change this reactor in fifty years time.”

Charles boggled to think of anyone at that age. That was a long time. And it wasn’t like David would disappear for very long. He could do it. Tony didn’t need him to be a baby. David needed a new battery, like Tony needed a new battery. Charles took a deep breath, and nodded.

Tony squeezed his arm, the touch lingering. Comforting. Charles leaned into it gratefully.

“Okay. Okay, good boy,” Tony said. The worry still hovered though, like a cloud at the edge of Tony’s conscious thoughts. After a moment, he patted Charles on the head and straightened, moving back towards where David was lying.

David’s mind was as calm as ever.

 _< < Remember what we’ve practiced, >>_ he said, _< < if you shield strongly enough, you should not even notice me for those few minutes.>>_

Charles shivered.

 _But I don’t want to not hear you_ , he said.

_< < No, but it will be a very good skill to have. Remember Ms Pepper? >>_

_< < You should start now,>>_ David prompted, smiling and giving Charles a telepathic hugging sensation, _< <start shielding.>>_

Charles couldn’t really see what Tony was doing, because his back blocked the view. But there was a cube of projected lattices running up and down David’s back. Then Tony did something deft with his right hand, and the back of David’s skin _peeled open from the base of his hip_.

Charles screamed.

“Christ!” said Tony, jumping about a foot in the air – and Charles realised he hadn’t screamed out loud, but inside everyone’s heads instead.

_< < Charles! Charles calm down, it’s alright. >>_

“Maybe it’s best if Charles isn’t present,” said JARVIS from the ceiling, sounding concerned while Tony held on the edge of the bench and breathed hard, looking shocked.

“Sorry!” Charles blurted, “Sorry! I know it doesn’t hurt. I just. It looks scary.”

“Maybe JARVIS is right, buddy,” said Tony, chest still heaving from the fright, “Jesus. Any damage?”

“None, sir,” said David calmly.

Outside the lab, Robbie yowled in consternation.

“Don’t make me leave,” said Charles, widening his eyes as big as they would go, “I’ll be quiet. Promise.”

Tony stared at him for a long while, doubt in his mind. But then he nodded, turning back to David. He picked up a few small, silver tools and got back to work. _Like a doctor_ , thought Charles. _Tony was a doctor making David better._

“Yeah you can think of it that way,” said Tony, pulling back with a click-clack sound and lifting something metallic from David’s spine. Charles wanted to get closer to have a look, but he didn’t want to distract Tony while he was moving stuff in David’s insides.

There was a series of soft mechanic hissing, before Tony was reaching for the glowing arc reactor next to him on the bench.

 _< < Remember,>> _said David, _< < Shielding. Concentrate on one thought, and block us out. >>_

I’ll try, said Charles tentatively, pulling his telepathy tight around himself like a child sticking fingers in his own ears to block out noise. He tried thinking of the lessons he and David had. Maybe if he counted backwards really really fast from a thousand? At the glass door, Robbie was licking the surface with a pink tongue while Max ran circles up and down the first few steps. Charles grinned and waved. Robbie paused in his licking to give him a truly disgusted and betrayed expression. _SHUT OUT,_ Robbie was thinking, fur standing on end. Then: _warmth sunshine naptime?_

There was a dull _thunk_ as Max ran head first into the lab door.

Charles giggled – and then glanced guiltily at Tony. But Tony didn’t seem to hear; he was fitting the arc reactor into David’s –

Too late pull himself back, Charles came up against a void where David’s constant, humming presence was and he threw out his telepathy upon reflex, _where was he where did he go David, David – DAVID?_

There was a sharp click and hiss as the arc reactor was enclosed in a metal clasp and it whirred, twisting back into David’s body, out of sight – but Charles had leapt out of his chair, towards the table, grabbing David’s lax arm.

“David!” he said, shaking the arm, “ _David,_ wake up!”

“Rebooting in progress,” said JARVIS, as the displays around them flickered with numbers and a sharp spike. Tony was trying to pull Charles away now, saying:

“Hey, remember what I said – look, it’s only half a minute to go – Charles, c’mon buddy, calm down.”

David’s eyes were still open, but he wasn’t moving at all. Charles couldn’t hear anything. Nothing. There was nothing. He was _dead._

Charles let out a wail of panic, everything buzzing in his ears like static-bees. And Tony was panicking too, hoisting Charles up, trying to hug him, but Charles clung on to David’s hand because _DAVID! WAKE UP._

And he did; in a dizzying rush of too-fast thoughts, slotting back into Charles’ grasp like the tail-end of a sigh. His eyes flickered, and the hand Charles was holding held back.

“See, he’s alright,” Tony was saying, rambling, words and thoughts tangled up in a desperate need to reassure. Charles sagged in his arms, feeling enormously silly all of a sudden.

“You’re not silly, it’s – It’s fine.” _Have to make sure David never goes offline if he reacts like this, oh god._

 _< < Calm, >>_ said David, projecting the sensation back to Charles like a particularly comforting mirror, _< <Please calm your mind Charles.>>_

 _Okay,_ thought Charles, fervent, _sorry. Okay. Calm. Sorry. Couldn’t. I felt it. I felt it._

 _< < It’s okay,>>_ said David, _< < It’s okay. But you need to let Tony know you’re okay so he can finish the upgrade. >>_

Charles let go of David’s hand and allowed himself to be put back onto the couch.

“Sorry,” he told Tony.

“It’s okay,” Tony said, giving him a slightly awkward hug around the shoulders, “I’ll just zip David up and he’ll be better than new. Yeah?”

Tentatively, Charles reached out and touched the faint glass-glow of Tony’s own arc reactor. Tony went very, very still.

“Like you?” Charles asked.

Tony’s emotions tasted sharp and metallic and he held Charles’ hand still with shaking fingers. Charles looked up, confused. But Tony wasn’t angry. He wasn’t sad. But it was a surprised tugging ache that made Charles stop, hesitant.

Tony drew him close, cheek against Charles’ hair.

“Yeah,” he said at last, still not letting go. “Yeah, I suppose that’s right.”

 

:i:

Some nights, Charles would half-wake to a litany of barely-there consciousness, a mantra repeated over and over: _can’t fall asleep, can’t fall asleep, fucking night mares Charles can’t can’t risk it again, no don’t fall asleep, don’t, don’t keep awake, anything but that –_

:i:

 

 

> _Stark Industries, New York City  
>  Two weeks later_

Obediah Stane had never been a particularly patient man. But he always had a soft spot for Tony; cut him slack because of a mutual understanding that Tony did not do meetings and did not do deadlines unless it suited him (but will sure bring in the military contracts like all-year Christmas, so that was okay.) In fact, Pepper nagged him much more than Obie did.

But on hindsight, even Obie had his limits.

“ _Tony_ ,” he said, in a tone that belied the anger outlined in the white of his knuckles, “You gotta give me something to work with here.”

Enough time had passed that Tony’s shoulder and elbow were fully healed. It hadn’t been a bad fracture; and he hadn’t had the cast for over a week now. Even so, there was something about the memory of bone-wet-crack that made Tony feel cold every time he leaned a weigh against that arm.

He had been avoiding the office; but Obie had actually gotten as far as the Stark Tower lifts this time, before Tony caved. He didn’t want to stress Charles.

And so he was here again; the familiar skyline sitting just beyond the lip of the desk. There was a faint buzzing irritation inside his skull, the absence of Charles pulling at him distractedly. It was a sensation he couldn’t quite put into words; only that it made him reluctant to leave Stark Tower at all, these days.

Obie still had that unimaginative screensaver of vintage muscle cars.

“I told you,” he said, avoiding Obie’s gaze, “this one stays with me.”

And exasperated sigh.

“Tony – “

“ _No,_ Obie.”

“The board isn’t happy. You haven’t – you’ve been shut up at home for two months. You don’t turn up to meetings, you don’t come into the lab. The board is getting antsy. Y’get what I’m sayin?”

“This arc reactor isn’t sustainable to manufacture yet,” said Tony, stalling for time, “Not on a military contract anyway. And all the other cores are too radioactive to be used anywhere near a human body.”

“How unsustainable are we talking – “

“Someone sold me out, Obie,” Tony snapped. It came out more raw than he had intended, voice scraped rough with the thought of it, “This one stays with me.”

Obie crossed his arms across his chest, expression thinning with displeasure.

Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose, guilt rising like bile in his throat.

“Alright,” he said, “Look I. It hasn’t been easy. I’ll come in next week. Talk to the board.”

“They need to know you’re back, Tony, back and _creating_.”

Vividly, Tony could still see his name etched on the bombs sent to take his life. His fingers were felt numb and cold. Obie’s eyes were still hard to meet, but he tried his best. When the silence lengthened, Obie continued, voice gentler.

“What about that suit you built to get out of that cave, huh?” he said, uncrossing his arms and walking around the table to where Tony was leaning against the window. “That could be the next thing. Imagine the soldiers. Unbelievable, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Tony, automatically, ‘Unbelievable.”

Obie sighed.

“You haven’t even touched it since we last spoke, have you. _Tony._ ”

“No,” Tony admitted with a half shrug, “Obie – it’s been…I need some time. To think.”

“About what?”

“Charlie. And the kind of father he deserves.”

“Tony – “

“When I was sitting in that cave, all I could think about was that – “ Tony’s voice broke on the last syllable,” – that Charlie would be orphaned twice. And how would I face Brian after that?”

Obie’s eyes were the grey-slate of a headstone, expression unreadable. Distantly, Tony wondered what he was thinking. Charlie would know.

“You know you can talk to me.” Obie said at last, laying a hand on Tony’s shoulder. The gesture weighed like the world; like his father’s expectations – heavy and unforgiving. Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I’ve been thinking. About the company. And where it should go. I don’t want death to be our only legacy, Obie.”

Obediah stilled. The very air trembled with it. The grip on Tony’s shoulder dug in.

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“I was thinking of going over the main reactor designs,” said Tony, “It’s time we took a slice out of the energy race, before Saito eats the last of that pie. Right?”

“A new division?”

Tony shifted uncomfortably. _Be conservative,_ David had said, _lie._

“Yeah,” he said, watching the slope of Obie’s shoulders carefully. It didn’t escape Tony’s notice that they relaxed, minutely, at that word.

But Obie’s gaze still lingered on Tony’s chest, where the rim of the miniaturised arc reactor could be seen: a faint outline in Tony’s shirt. It made Tony feel horribly naked.

Obie patted his shoulder again.

“Well I suppose we could set that up,” he said, smiling, “If you headed it. But the board wants you back with weapons development.”

“Obie, I can’t – “

“What you can’t do,” said Obie, cutting across him, “is sit and let that suit waste away in your brain! Christ, Tony, it’ll be revolutionary! The military is shitting themselves to get their hands on one, after Lieutenant Rhode’s report. Shitting themselves, Tony. You wouldn’t want Hammer getting his dirty hands on it –“

Tony snorted with contempt.

“As if he could.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be so cocky about it because – “

“For the last time, not _now_ , Obie.”

A long pause.

Behind them, the city whirred on like a clockwork model. The sky had not a single cloud in it, and hurt your eyes if you looked at it too long.

“Well,” said Obie, still sounding forcibly cheerful, “How about that android of yours? David. If you made another prototype – they’d make damn good soldiers. Let the engineers look it over.”

Tony felt something heavy sink down through the bottom of his stomach; the thought of David killing someone with brilliant, inhuman efficiency. _A learning machine_ , he thought, _you have no idea._

“He’s not – I’m still working on David,” Tony lied, “later.”

Obie popped the glass stopper from the whiskey and poured them both a glass. The liquid was the colour of Charles’ hair.

“Alright,” said Obie, handing Tony one of the glasses. Tony took it, feeling like a door had just closed shut behind him. He drank it without tasting the alcohol.

“I tell the board you’re just recovering,” said Obie, taking a sip from his own glass.

“But Tony – they won’t wait forever.”

_And neither will I._

 

:i:

 

Later, Tony will discover that Obie’s patience ran to exactly four months and two days.

But by then it would be too late.

 

:i:

 

                  _Stark Tower, New York City._

It was three in the morning, and Tony was awake. There was a cooling mug of coffee at his elbow and a half finished plate of chicken salad that David had left for him a few hours ago with a disapproving stare. It had more avocado in it than chicken, and Tony wondered when he began snacking on healthy salads instead of, well. Alcoholic ones.

All in all, nothing out of the ordinary.

Taking a gulp of coffee, Tony set it on the bench, out of the way, before pulling the next box closer. He pressed his thumb to the reader on its edge, and the box hummed gently for a moment before the locks disengaged, the top two halves sliding back to sink down seamlessly to its sides. Behind Tony, there sat six similar boxes and various piles of paper and folders arranged in a semi circle.

After the funeral, Tony had all of Brian’s personal documents – including everything in the manor safe and his study – shipped to Stark Tower. After the estate had been settled and the will straightened out (namely, kept out of Marko’s dirty hands), Tony had locked everything up in the vault beneath the labs. The very thought of rifling through his best friend’s things made him feel sick. It rang with a horrid finality, and brought back memories of old books meticulously preserved, shelves and shelves of them.

Brian was hopelessly old fashioned.

And now he was gone.

Tony drank more coffee and pulled back the protective covering, revealing the boxes’ contents. It was a messy assortment of things; no scientific equipment or sealed files. Tony frowned, pulling out a plastic folder containing colourful pieces of paper. Undoing the clasp, he pulled one of the pieces out. They were crayon drawings. Tony let out a breath of laughter. There was a brown-yellow blob scribbled in a background of green and red splotches. He turned the picture sideways.

“What do you think this is, Jay?” he said out-loud.

There was a pause.

“Perhaps a potato, sir,” said JARVIS, with the tone of someone who just cross referenced the image on google and didn’t find any conclusive.

“Or a dog.”

“There are no legs, sir.”

“Charlie has improved a lot then.”

He slid the picture back into the folder, putting it next to him before reaching into the box again. He pulled out what looked like a large journal encased  in a hard box Tony lifted the plain cover. It was indeed a book; leatherbound and weighing a tonne. It had a thin golden plaque sunk into its hard cover, and words etched in fancy serif font:

**_The Baby Book.  
Charles Francis Xavier._ **

“Oh Bri,” said Tony, feeling like someone was strangling him. “You sentimental – “

He flipped open the first page. The paper was thick, luxurious and that gentle cream colour which characterised all overpriced stationery. The first page was blank, but the second page had a photograph of Sharon holding a bundle in her arms. Charles looked like any baby, really, cherubic with a faint dusting of blonde hair on his head. He was asleep. The background was out of focus, but Tony could just make out the pastel colours of blue and yellow. The nursery.

Beneath the picture, Brian had printed, in his neat, familiar handwriting:

 

> _Our darling boy, home at last! Has not cried or screamed once because he is an angel and we could not be more blessed. Sharon showing him the view outside the nursery window and complaining that she is still fat. She isn’t. This is the most beautiful picture ever taken. And I am the happiest man on earth._

Tony turned the page. A landscape picture: Charles was sleeping in a cot with a stuffed toy duck clutched between his chubby arms. The duck was as long as Charles, and nearly as round. Next to the date, Brian had added:

 

> _Charlie and Percival the Duck (liberally drooled on). Isn’t this the cutest sight? I hate to think what would happen when we eventually have to borrow Percival to give him a good wash._

The next page had four smaller photos, each affectionately annotated in Brian’s handwriting. Turning the pages, Tony realised that Brian persevered with the commentary, each photograph accompanied by a small paragraph of memory in Brian’s own voice. Tony could hear it in his head, the way Brian’s British accent was never quite diluted. Sometimes there would be a sentence in Sharon’s handwriting, little arrows in reply to whatever Brian had written above.

There was a photo of Charles enthusiastically embracing a dog, little face scrunched up with delight. To the side, Tony could see Sharon’s stockinged legs and green leather shoes; the tyres of a car, and another pair of legs. Beneath the date, Brian had scrawled:

                  _Charlie meets Winston!!!! Sharon horrified; pops delighted._

Brian loved dogs. Figures that Charlie would take after his father, really.

 

Tony didn’t know how long he sat there, pouring over each photo – some of which he had seen before (Brian liked to send him a thousand pictures of Charles on his phone, until – well. Until that particular argument.) Most was intimately domestic, and made Tony feel like he was encroaching on something private, something that was only meant to be shared between parent and child.

He ran the pad of his thumb over the thick paper, and turned another page. The photograph was a larger print than most of the others, taking up the majority of the page. Sharon must have taken it, because there was Brian – in all his old fashioned ridiculousness – clutching Charles and holding him up for the camera. The date meant Charles was about four, though he looked like a two year old. And clean-shaven, Brian didn’t look much older than that either.

They were wearing two matching (and ugly) sweaters, Brian grinning while Charlie looked appropriately doubtful about his attire. They had matching hair and matching noses; eyes the same blue.

Tony exhaled; not quite a laugh, a sound punched from the lungs.

_Matching sweaters from Pop! Sharon hates it but I think we look dashing._

_\--_

 

“Ugliest things I’ve ever seen,” Tony muttered, “You had such bad taste. Even Charlie knew it, look. That is not a face that approves of your choices, Bri.”

He turned flipped over the page.

It was blank.

 

Tony stared, uncomprehending for a long moment. He flipped another page over, thinking perhaps Brian had accidentally skipped a page – but the rest of the book was all blank, the paper smooth and untouched. Tony’s hands shook at the edge of the book. He tried to close it, but found he couldn’t.

Something splattered onto the page; wet.

Wrenching something hard within himself, Tony snapped the photo album shut, pulling it out of its box entirely, knuckles white against the spine. And there, nestled behind the book in a plastic bag, were a few loose photographs. Brian had clearly printed them with the intention of putting them into the album, but never got around to it.

Not trusting himself, Tony put the book and its box down on the table top. The metallic letters shone in the vault light, reflecting Tony’s face back at him. He pushed it away in an aborted gesture, and accidentally knocked into his coffee mug. It tipped over with a ceramic clatter brown liquid spilling suddenly over the table-top and Tony felt a flash of panic before snatching the box and the album off the table, dropping it on the other side of the table while his heart-rate thundered against his ribcage.

“Fuck!”

Anger, irrational and burning, flared inside him and Tony grabbed the mug before throwing it across the room. It smashed against the floor, the sound a gunshot in the stillness of the vault. He couldn’t see properly: everything was blurry, like a camera out of focus.

Blindly, Tony slid to the floor, back pressed against the leg of the table as his soul shook; blank as the pages Brian left behind.

He covered his face with his hands, and allowed himself to cry.

 

:i:

 

Later, Tony finds double-sided tape and a new black pen.

“This one is first, yeah?”

“Correct, sir.

Carefully, Tony stuck the photography down onto a new page, using a soft cloth to smooth it down. Fingerprints wouldn’t do. He pressed gently, making sure the edges wouldn’t flick up and get bent. Uncapping the pen, he took a deep breath before pressing the nib to the paper.

                  _Charlie’s 6 th Birthday. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness it's nearly been a year since I last updated - thank you for anyone who is still with this story. The rest will be coming much more frequently; and I hope this super long chapter made up for the wait! <3 Thanks to Roz + Syn for being my sounding boards!
> 
> Several plot notes:
> 
> \- the events of Iron Man 2 is basically non-existant in this verse because, having shifted everyone forward by a generation, certain people don't meet in certain circumstances (read: war). Further, I didn't really buy how Howard "left" Tony the cure for that element - it was just illogical. It made more sense to me that David would be able to synthesize something that worked, being the most advanced AI to date.  
> \- I really wanted to show how having a child would change Tony's priorities. Suddenly world peace/his own vengeance etc isn't the top of the list: it's Charles' well being. Hence here Tony doesn't make a surprise declaration that he was stopping weapons manufacturing; he doesn't antagonise Obie/Rhodey, he doesn't obsessively build a suit to avenge Yinsen. This will have repercussions of its own later on, but I hope you're enjoying the slight bending of plot! :)
> 
> Any feedback or crit is super appreciated! I know there are a few gaps in the plot, but I left them out mostly because the chapter is so BLOODY LONG haha. 
> 
> Questions:  
> \- Would you guys like shorter/more frequent chapters in the future?  
> \- i'm thinking of introducing someone who isn't from the marvel universe. How do you guys feel about non-Marvel characters? It's integrated plot/everything wise but I didn't want to annoy anyone! <3 let me know.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading; the plot is hotting up! xxx
> 
> PS: there was a pic that Lyn refused to let me post because she decided she didn't like it anymore. it was super cute. you should all go spam her. >:D


	6. Please ignore this one

Please go to the next 'chapter' to see the update! I originally edited my 'note' placeholder but people said they hadn't gotten the alert in their inbox so hopefully this fixes it...sorry guys! 


	7. Arc 1, Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony takes to fatherhood like a duck to water, dumps all his previous priorities on their heads, and a lot of gelato is consumed. Charles learns that this telepathy is more hardy than anyone gives it credit for, and David learns to play the piano. 
> 
> But what they say about good things and endings is, unfortunately, very true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Lyn informs me that she isn't feelin' it for XMFC anymore and has officially dropped this fic - so unfortunately no more art from her. I know a few of you were waiting to read this chapter when the art was posted but that mission has been aborted haha, so I've just updated to let you know. Fic will continue.
> 
> Thanks to Afrocurl & Syn for putting up with my plot rants. <3

:i:

 ** _“A father carries pictures where his money used to be.”_**  
– Anonymous

:i:

   

 

> _Three months later._

 

As a general rule, Charles and David consumed a lot of YouTube videos.

Sometimes they watched  _National Geographic_  documentaries or short educational clips about everything from animals and chemistry, to mathematics and art history. They watched live-feed cams on pandas, penguins and nesting falcons in London. They watched musicals, opera (Charles fell asleep before it was finished), ballets and Eurovision. They also watched cat videos, cooking shows, short animated films, more cat videos and on one memorable occasion, a news-clip of Tony which ended with him making a very rude hand gesture at some very important looking people. David and Charles both practiced the gesture afterwards and mutually agreed not to try it in front of Pepper.

But it was the music that seemed to capture David’s immediate fascination; pianists with a big orchestra, camera zoomed in on their hands as they flickered over the keys; violinists with their eyes closed, faces tilted into the music like a flower to the sun.

 _I like this one,_  Charles would think. And David’s head tilted too, eyes closed and fingers twitching against his lap.

_< < Why does she close her eyes, when she plays?>>_

Charles squinted.

 _I dunno,_  he said,  _she’s smiling though._

_< < She is happy. >>_

Charles would sometimes fall asleep to the presence of Bach, played softly and muted like film projected on the back of one’s eyelids; rose warm and faintly blurry. David, replaying a piece in his head, the notes dropping like the rain on the lip of the window.  _Tap Tap Tap_ , until Charles lost count and was cocooned in the soft lull of the music. 

“Do you know how to play the piano, David?” Charles asked one day, after they had finished watching another video. A neat line of sums was completed on the tablet in front of him so Tony wouldn’t feel obliged to tell them off (he often forgot to anyway).

“Theoretically,” said David, “I think I might learn more thoroughly if we were in the presence of an actual pianist, while they played. I lack telepathic input, and a study of muscles only goes so far.”

Charles wiggled in his seat.

“I wanna play,” he said resolutely, thinking back to how fast the pianist in the video had been going. The notes had been clear like laughter and Charles wanted to do that too – wanted to make someone laugh.

“There’s a piano in the lobby on the 30th floor,” said David.

 _REALLY,_  said Charles, jumping up.

 _Really…what?_  came Tony’s voice.  _What’s going on up there, you two?_

 _Oops,_ said Charles.

David frowned at him, an expression he borrowed straight from Pepper’s face.  

“Remember our shielding exercises,” he said, reproachfully.

“Inside-head voices, I  _knowww_ ,” said Charles obediently. “Piano now?”

 

There was indeed a piano on the 30th floor, a big glossy thing dressed in a sharp black like Tony’s fancy leather shoes. It stood on hard wooden flooring, occupying the space in between glass-partitioned conference rooms that looked as if they were hardly ever used. Beyond the windows, the city sprawled in a quilt of grey and black against a blue blue sky. Charles held David’s hand and listened to the sound of music playing until the hum of voices threatening to well up in his throat ebbed again, slowly settling somewhere low in his stomach. When he tentatively let go of David’s hand, they didn’t rise up like bile – and Charles breathed out a sigh of relief.

 _< < Anytime you feel as if it is getting too loud, I will play the music,>>_ said David, comfortingly,  _< < and you just have to concentrate on only hearing me. >>_

 _Okay,_  said Charles.

He followed David across the room to where the piano stood; watched as David pulled out the long piano stool, raised the cover off the keys and then took off the cloth covering under that. He folded it in quick motions (sometimes David moved too fast for Charles to follow his gestures, but that was okay.) Then he went around the side to lift the lid of the grand piano up, using the shorter of the sticks to prop it open. When Charles went to peer inside the piano – full of long, bronze ropes and wooden hammers all up one end – David pulled his hands away from the edge.

 _< < Not safe; very heavy >>_ he said, touching the lid lightly with one thumb.

 _Play something!_  Said Charles eagerly, clambering up onto the stool. He pressed a key at random, and whooped with delight when the sound reverberated through the piano and bounced off the glass like a pebble in a clear pool. David sat down next to him, tucking his long legs beneath the piano. When he pressed one of the pedals, the keys all shifted to the left.

“Oh!” said Charles, pressing a whole hand into the keys. A discord rang out, like an indignant exclamation. “Do that again!”

David obliged.

Charles kicked his own legs, trying to reach the pedals but found that he was far too short. He pouted, but settled for sidling up close to David’s side instead and prodding him pointedly in the thigh. David looked down at him, expression bemused. It was the expression Tony made when Charles accidentally stuck the nanoballs to Tony’s face.

 _Again,_  he insisted.

 _< < It’s merely the une corda, >> _said David,  _< < it mutes the volume a little – see how the cloth here is dropped down between the hammer and the string? >>_

“Uh-uh,” said Charles, still pressing keys at random. “Play that fast one. Please!”

“The bells?” asked David.

“Yeah!” said Charles withdrawing his hands tucking them underneath his knees. He looked expectantly from the piano to David then back again.

David put his hands on the keys; carefully, fingers curved gently like they had seen in the videos. David’s hands looked like they belonged on the piano, each rectangle just large enough and long enough for all ten fingers to sit comfortably. Charles’ own hands were too small – and a bit pudgy. But David was much taller. When Charles was as tall, he would be the same. Probably.

Hesitantly, David began to play – the sound was slow but clear, overlapping with the recording that David was playing through his head as his hands moved. It was a little dizzy to watch. But very quickly the notes from the piano and the notes in the video were indistinguishable, falling into pace with one another like runners holding hands. Charles leaned forwards in his seat, giddy with David’s sense of accomplishment as the music unfurled itself, gaining momentum. He watched, holding his breath as David’s second and fourth finger did a complicated sort of alternate turn as it scaled up the keys towards the right hand end of the piano. Then he reached for a stray key with his pinky finger –

 

David stopped, abruptly. Charles blinked.   

 _< < It doesn’t sound the same,>>_ said David, puzzled.

_???_

_< < Misapplication of pressure? Redistributed from the third finger to the fourth where the melody carries. Conflicting data between recording one and six. >>_

“I don’t think you have to sound the same,” said Charles.

_< < But which one is without flaw? >>_

Charles shrugged.

_Dunno!_

_< < I have never used these particular sequences before, >> _said David, looking down at his hands _._

“I could find someone who plays the piano,” Charles said, dubiously, kicking his legs a little. David felt confused, like he hadn’t ever expected to be doing something he didn’t know how to do already. It was slightly disconcerting. Charles wiggled his own fingers experimentally and pushed at the keys.

“I’m not sure you have that kind of control yet,” said David, patting Charles on the head. Charles pouted and pressed down with the whole of his hand. The piano let out a burp of noise, discordant. David gave him a disapproving look.

He was right though – Charles had never really sought out anything specific from a crowd before. Finding mother and father was different, Charles always knew where they were, just like he always knew vaguely what Tony was doing (throwing a nanoball repeatedly against the ceiling while blasting music). If he let his mind open up, the murmuring of the city became louder and closer, and he would pick up whatever was most distinctive. But he had never  _looked._

“It might be easier if you were closer to one,” said David, still playing the same youtube video at the back of his mind.

 _Mmm,_  thought Charles, and wondered if Tony would let him go to one of those big concerts with a hundred people in the orchestra and one person playing the piano at the front. Would it sound different, compared to the videos? There would be lots of other people though, all in that one room.

 _< < I think I would like to go to one of those concerts too,>>_ said David thoughtfully.  _< < You could read one of the musicians while they play. It would be very instructive. >>_

“But I wanna play  _now_ ,” said Charles. He prodded David’s thoughts, the feel of fingers on keys superimposed with the music. But his own hands felt too different, fingers too short, hand too small. What David could reach without moving his wrist, Charles had to move his whole  _arm_. It was so unfair.

Charles gave up after a while and tried to slide forwards in order to reach one of the pedals beneath the piano. There were two of them, surely they could share.

David caught him by the armpits before he could slide right off the chair and onto the floor.

“Teach me,” Charles demanded, stabbing at the keys he could reach and looking up at David, “the one you just played. I want that one.”

David shifted obligingly on the piano seat and slid Charles closer with one hand on his side.

“I’m not sure you can reach all the octaves and intervals,” said David, “Don’t you want to try a…smaller one? We could have a look at the videos and you can choose.”

Charles folded his arms in indignation. He just needed practice.

 _Just show me hereeee,_ he insisted, wriggling impatiently and putting both hands flat on the keyboard. David covered his hands with his own, considerably much bigger ones, and replaced all of Charles’ fingers until they were curved on the keys. Charles let himself be repositioned but he gave David a very suspicious look over his left shoulder.

“The man in the video didn’t do this.”

“His fingers are a lot longer than yours.”

“You can play the big bits,  _I’ll_ have the small bits.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works – ”

“I can play all the bits from here – ” Charles picked one of the black keys, then stretched his hands as wide as they could go until he hit another black key. “– to here.”

“The piece is physically too big for you.”

“It’s not!”

“It  _is_.”

“ _Not_!”

 

_Half an hour later_

 

David’s lap made a very comfortable pillow. And watching his fingers move over the keyboard from underneath was cool – they didn’t show that on the videos.

As it turned out, playing the piano was harder than it looked. A lot harder. There was something very irritating about being able to hear the music in his head, being able to  _feel_ the movements of how to play in David’s hands – and yet not being able to replicate that in his own limbs. It was like trying to make shadow puppets on the wall, but finding out that your hands and the shadows didn’t match no matter how hard you tried. Charles stared at his own hands in squinty annoyance, sticking them straight up in the air. David ducked to avoid being hit in the face, the music not faltering.

 _Oops, sorry,_ said Charles, pulling his hands back down again.

 _< < It’s alright, >>_ said David, his right hand crossing over his left to play a melody deeper in the throat of the piano, the rumbling sound echoing right through David’s thigh as he manoeuvred the pedals. David was still watching the video, mirroring the movements down to the flick of the wrist when he reached the right end of the keys, notes trickling so fast Charles had trouble following each press with his eyes.

He shifted, wriggling his socked feet where they hung off the end of the piano seat.

If Charles closed his eyes and stayed very still, it was like  _he_  was playing the piano. It was his arms moving, his hands, _his_  fingers following the score at the back of his head, two pianos playing in unison. It was a little bit like watching someone speak and hearing the words form in their head, and if Charles stayed very,  _very_ still, all the city voices grew quiet until there was nothing but them, enclosed in the same thoughts and the same mind, slotted together like hot chocolate on a cold rainy day.

Mother knew how to play the piano. They had several in the house, but there was one upstairs near the bedroom. She would play, sometimes – never in Charles’ memory but he had seen some videos Papa took when Charles was smaller and could sit on the piano lid like a jelly bean while his mother Mozart, light and clear.

Charles liked those videos: he couldn’t hear what Mother was thinking in those – and she was smiling, so it must have been nice.

He –  _no, David_  – finished playing, lifting his hands from the keys with a satisfied floaty feeling. He ran one hand through Charles’s hair and Charles reluctantly shifted so he could look up.

“Would you like me to play something else?” asked David, voice hushed in the aftermath of song.

David looked funny from upside down.

“I wanna play,” Charles sulked. David’s smile widened, crinkling his eyes like he was going to laugh, and Charles huffed but allowed himself to be pushed back up into a sitting position.

“We could find something for a smaller hand span,” he said, taking Charles’ left hand in his own. “I could help you – I think your telepathy would be very useful. It could be an experiment.”

Charles perked up at the word.

“Can you play my hands like I can play yours?”

David tilted his head slightly, a question mark.

Charles squished David’s hand in his own in impatience.

 _Like THIS,_ he said, and pushed the memory to the front of David’s attention, the sensation of sharing hands, of notes and sound flowing together like the wetness of a raindrop and the sound of it hitting the windows. David’s eyes were wide, and they stared at each other.

 _< < Oh,>>_ said David, already mentally flicking through piece after piece at a rapid pace, like someone blinking over and over and over,  _< < I  **see**. >>_

 

:i:

 

 

 

> _Voice message alert: inbox [unread] >> #41  
>  From: Obadiah Stane || To: Tony Stark [12:58:21.26/08/2029 – 12.59:50.26/08/2029]_
> 
> _Tony. Listen. I really need you to give me something to work here yeah? And not ignoring my calls would be a fucking great way to start [laughs]. It’s been months si –  Look, I know you’re working on other projects right now for the kid, but the board will have my head if you keep this hermit thing up and – yeah. Yeah. I want to see you at the office tomorrow. If you send Pepper again I will gut you myself you hear? [laughter]._

:i:

 

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark had a great work ethic. It was just that his definition of ‘work’ often didn’t align with what other people (see: Obie or Pepper) saw as ‘work’.

Contrary to  _another_ popular belief, Tony Stark always finished his projects – certain people (see: Obie or Pepper) failed to realise that the road to successfully finishing something was knowing when to discard all the bad ideas. That way, you’re only left with the good bits. You had to be good at discarding bad ideas. And Tony Stark had lots of good ideas. Lots.

It was just sometimes there were so  _many_  ideas, full stop, that it was hard knowing which one was worth keeping and which to torch. It drove him nuts. It had been nearly half a year since he got home and no matter how many prototypes he made and how many theories he tried, none of his and Jarvis and David’s combined efforts had produced an effective result. Perhaps it was a little too ambitious to think he could crack this so quickly, something that had been puzzling the mutant researchers for half a century. But Tony wasn’t used to having quite so many crap ideas.

Tony threw the half-made inhibiter across the room in a fit of frustration.

“BARJHSD,” he shouted, throwing himself back in his chair and skidding three feet across the room. He stopped when he bumped into the workbench and reached out blindly for his cup of cold coffee.

“Sir?”

“There’s no point,” said Tony, “That’s not going to work. I know it’s not going to work because the last five hundred versions haven’t worked either. There’s something – it’s the fact we still don’t actually know how telepathy is transmitted, do we?”

“Charles did say he thought the thoughts were quieter,” said JARVIS, levelly, “this alloy – “

“Yes, yes, the alloy works,” said Tony waving a hand. In the corner of the lab, Dumm-E perked up at the motion and began to whir over at the prospect of a mug to clean. He looked so hopeful that Tony sighed and handed it over, inwardly resigning himself to having to find a different mug. Again. “But unless we put Charles in an airtight box of that stuff, he’ll still hear. Anything less and it is basically useless.”

“It may be entirely possible that he will develop natural defences for crowds as part of his mutation,” said JARVIS, “David has noted remarkable increase in control over his shielding over the last few weeks.”

Tony rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, tired.

“I don’t want a repeat of the car incident with Pepper,” he said, sliding one of the screens closer to him and retrieving the schematics for the latest inhibitor. A dud. Fuck.

“David and Charles are currently in Zone B and have been for the last four hours. Charles has not shown any symptoms of discomfort. Perhaps it is time to begin exposure trials?”

Tony paused.

“What are they doing all the way down here?” he said. Then face palmed.

 _Charlie??_  He thought, loudly.

Nothing. Well this was weird. Usually he barely had to think about Charles for Charles to poke him back.

There was a flicker of awareness and then a rush of  _prideexcitementgottashowdad_  then:

_Tony! Hi! I HAVE TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING._

Tony winced at the mental volume, but grinned to himself.

“They have been playing the piano in the foyer,” said JARVIS, helpfully, into the verbal silence.

 _The piano?_ said Tony,  _wait who taught you how to play the piano?_

 _COME SEE COME SEE,_ said Charles, all but capering through Tony’s mind; a heady rush of endorphins.

Tony glanced at the half-finished inhibiter lying on the floor where he had thrown it across the room. He glanced at the schematics and in-progress models still open in the air, then at the door.

“Save everything will you, Jarvis?” said Tony, turning off the nearest projections with a calculated wave of the hand. He hopped off his hair and drained his cold coffee in two gulps.

“Of course sir,” said JARVIS.

“Keep the cortex simulations going and let me know when they’re done but. Yeah we’ll – “ he jabbed at a screen to turn it off, “- resume later.”

_I’m coming!_

 

 

“Sit here,” Charles ordered, pointing at an office chair that David had reappropriated. David helpfully adjusted the chair and gave Tony a pointed look. Tony sat.

The piano (which he had never used himself) stood gleaming, its cover in a neat folded pile on the floor, and the lid propped open slightly. As soon as Tony had sat down, Charles ran back to the big piano stool and climbed onto it, wiggling until he was in the middle. His legs dangled in mid air. David sat down next to him on the left.

“I only just learnt,” said Charles, and he felt a bit apprehensive in Tony’s head. “So I’m not good. David’s better…”

It was the strangest telepathic déjà vu that Tony had ever experienced; for a moment the nervousness was his own and he was thrown back to a study, the side of a chrome desk, and his father’s too-busy profile bent over the table and his work. ( _Dad. Dad I have something to show you! – Not now, Tony_.)

“JARVIS says you’ve only been at this for what, two hours,” said Tony. “Impressed already.” On a whim, he pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the camera. “Go on. I’m ready.”

Charles beamed at him, perking up at the attention like a puppy. He wiggled some more before squinting at the keyboard and carefully putting his fingers onto the appropriate keys, one by one. He glanced up at David, who was sitting ramrod straight next to him with a soft expression on his features that Tony wasn’t at all sure was in his programming. After a long pause –

_Are you guys talking without me._

“…Because I’m recording already.”

“SHHH.”

Tony stifled a laugh. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

Charles took a deep breath, inflating his chest like a small pidgeon and then letting it out again, before starting to play; notes slightly faltering but gaining in confidence as he played. He had a look of such concentration on his face that it was almost comical (Tony zoomed in with his phone), tongue between teeth as he searched for all the right keys frantically. Beside him, David worked the pedals at various intervals, leaning out of Charles’ way when the latter reached enthusiastically for the lower registers.

When Tony was younger his mother had attempted to get him to play the piano – but Tony had always preferred making things with his hands than playing music and after a year of enforced practices at gunpoint, both tutor and mother gave up. He later picked it up in a brief phase at university, when he thought it was the classy sort of thing that girls liked (and because Brian couldn’t play to save his life), but the person who played the piano most around Stark Industries was Obie.

Charles was playing a very halting version of Mozart’s minuet, with various wrong notes that were punctuated with loud telepathic exclamations of horror and cringing. But Tony thought he was doing pretty well for a kid who just sat down in front of the keyboard. Really well. Probably a prodigy. Youtube material definitely.

Mentally, Tony tried to figure out if there was room for a piano up in the penthouse. He’d have to shift the beanbag, which would mean remodelling the floor.

Charles came to the last notes with a triumphant  _plonk_  laced with relief that he had  _made it all the way to the end without having to start over_! He whipped his hands off the keyboard, above his head, and turned to look at Tony, eyes big as if to say,  _Ta da?!_

Without bothering to turn off the recording, Tony clapped enthusiastically.

“En core!” he said, laughing, still clapping, “you  _have_  to show Pepper, she’s gonna love it.”

The smile Charles gave him made Tony feel like he was going to burst; giddy and drunk with it. He bounced up and down where he sat.

“Was I good!”

“Yeah buddy,” said Tony, “So good.”

“I got notes wrong though,” said Charles, looking down at his socks.

“Yeah? Didn’t even notice,” Tony lied blithely.

_Yeah you did!_

…oops. Tony held up both hands, palm up and grinned.

_Hey, first time right? Everyone misses some stuff._

_Yeah._ Then, with more enthusiasm:  _Even David did!_

_< < Did not. >>_

_DID SO._

_< < I merely played at a slower tempo to minimise mistakes. Tempo is discretionary. >>_

Tony leaned back in his chair and raised both eyebrows at his bot.

“Methinks the robot doth protest too much,” he said. Then, “…JARVIS, did David really teach himself how to play the piano?”

“Yes,” said JARVIS, “From watching Youtube videos, I believe.”

Tony stared.

“Seriously?”

“David’s turn!  _David’s turn!_ ” Charles was chanting.

“Oh my god, okay,” said Tony. Charles hopped off the piano stool at some non-verbal prompting from David and plopped himself on Tony’s lap. He was still small and light enough that he could do this without immediately killing all sensation in Tony’s legs – but probably not for long. Thankfully for all of them, David didn’t need circulation in his legs.

Once Charles was satisfied with his human seat, Tony pointed a finger at David.

“Let’s hear it then.”

 

There was something slightly eerie about David and music. Tony wondered if it was the knowledge that David wasn’t organic, or whether it was the straight back way he played, easy and effortless. There were no frown or creases on his face that belied concentration, just sure measured confidence as his fingers ran over the keys with a technique that looked as if it had come straight out of a concert recording.

Which it probably had. Literally. He got a vague impression from Charles: music playing over and over while they lined up their hands; clean precise calculations of pressure and release.

 _I made this_ , thought Tony, as David executed a particularly fluid run in the treble.  _I made_ him.

If you closed your eyes, you couldn’t tell the difference. Music didn’t discriminate, it may as well have been anyone else in front of those keys. Tony wondered if David could compose music, if he could improvise – and that was the crux of the thing, wasn’t it? Would David’s compositions be the result of an algorithm, variations and variations (and variations) upon a theme? No one had ever figured out organic creation because at the end of the day the point was moot – it was the sight of David playing music.

_A learning machine._

Tony wasn’t sure what it was exactly, that he had done.

David finished the piece without fanfare, hands hovering above the last note. He turned to look at them, much like Charles had done, and Tony was struck by the same anticipation in those eyes, eager for approval. In his lap, Charles was clapping up a storm, cheeks dimpled from laughing.

“Eh,” said Tony, playing at nonchalance, “Not bad.”

He might have imagined the crestfallen look that passed over David’s face. Charles gave him a mental prod.

 “I mean,” he continued, “I  _did_  give you life. I think I need to be congratulated.”

David inclined his head. Charles pouted.

“Tonyyy,” he said, twisting to look up.

“What!”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m mean?!” Tony exclaimed with over-exaggerated aplomb, “Though I’m interested in how you learnt to do that so quickly.” He gave David an assessing look.

“David taught me,” said Charles.

“Yeah?”

“He played my hands. But it’s hard.”

Tony stared. He wondered when these surprises would stop. Clearly three odd years was not enough where a tiny telepath was concerned.

“Sorry, come again?”

“I  _saaaaid_ ,” repeated Charles, with the kind of exasperation only a eight year old that looked all of five years could muster, “David played my hands.” To illustrate, he grabbed Tony’s right hand and wiggled his fingers like a puppet, then stared up at him as if to say  _get it now, dumb-dumb?_

“How does David…play your hands?” asked Tony, still confused.

“He uses my hands instead of his,” said Charles.

“What.”

“But only slightly! It was still me playing. I just need help for now.”

“I think it was rather Charles telepathically mimicking me whilst I played,” said David from the piano seat, “Except I wasn’t physically playing, merely re-enacting the relevant codes.”

 _For now_ , said Charles.

Tony absently patted him on the head, brain whirring with the possibilities. The possibilities!

“We need to rethink your educational syllabus, buddy,” he said.

 

:i:

 

That evening, Pepper stopped by to have dinner with them because it was a Tuesday and Pepper always came by for dinner on Tuesdays now. She was suitably impressed with Charles’ piano playing (she thought it was the cutest thing ever) but refused to let Tony put the video up on Youtube.

David made lamb chops with potatoes and Charles’ favourite salad (which had a very high mandarin slice to green thing ratio) and lemon cheese-cake for after. Pepper liked cheese-cake and it was probably why Pepper had warmed up to David so much. Charles didn’t mind. Cheesecake was always a good thing, even if David kept a very strict schedule on how many times he was allowed to have it.

Charles took another big spoonful while he could.

“- have to relay the floor but there’s definitely enough room up here,” Tony was saying.

“That is so unnecessary,” said Pepper, taking a dainty sip from her wine glass, “Why don’t we just move it to your living room? It’s just a gaping space that you don’t need and it’s only a floor away.”

“But Charles would have to move to practice.”

Pepper gave him a  _look_ and didn’t bother replying.

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Charles poked Tony.

“Mm?”

“Can we go to a music concert? David thinks it’ll help with the piano playing.”

“The New York Philharmonic is playing,” said Pepper, smiling at Charles over her plate, “is that what you’re thinking of? I’m sure there’s a concerto on the programme this season that we could take you to. Tony?”

Tony’s thoughts had become clouded with worry though.

“I’m not sure if you can cope with crowds yet,” he said, picking out a mandarin slice. By this time, his salad was almost wholly green. David was eyeing it with the disapproval of a thousand exasperated nannies.

“I can!” Charles insisted.

“Buddy, we had to clear out the zoo remember – “

“I can so!”

“He needs to get out of the house at some point, Tony,” said Pepper. “Sweetie, could you pass the sauce?”

Charles passed the sauce triumphantly.

“Well I don’t think sticking him in a hall with a thousand people is a great place to start,” said Tony, stabbing at his second helping of lamb and not looking at any of them.  _What if he has another seizure, too much might result in a comatose – no too much risk, can’t risk, no_

“Perhaps we could start smaller,” David suggested, “Perhaps just a short walk each day to get Charles acclimatised.” He was the only person at the table not eating steak – he was having his robot porridge. Charles couldn’t remember the proper name for it but it looked yuck. People food was much better.

Tony made a noncommittal noise.

Charles had finished his cheesecake. It was time to be strategic. Strategy, David had said, was utilising all the tools at your disposal. He shuffled in his chair until he was facing Tony. He opened his eyes as wide as they would go and blinked for good measure.

“Uh uh,” said Tony.

“ _Pleaseeee_ ,”

“I’m trying to be a responsible parent here!”

“You’re being a helicopter parent,” said Pepper. “This cheesecake is delicious, David! Are there blueberries in the base?”

“A  _helicopter?_ ”

“PLEASE!”

“Yes,” said David, looking very pleased with himself.

Tony was bristling like an offended cat. “What’s that supposed to even mean? I’m a great parent. I’m a fun parent. I’m – ”

“You  _hover_.”

There was nothing for it. Charles let out a tragic sniffle and rubbed his right eye with his sleeve.

“ _Oh f-_ fine. Fine. We’ll go tomorrow okay? Tomorrow! Not now.  _Tomorrow_. Afternoon. Late afternoon. And we’re taking the tank-proof car.”

Across the table, Pepper hid a smile behind her napkin.

 _< < Well done,>>_ said David.

Charles beamed.

 

:i:

_8 hours later_

“ _JESUS CHRIST!”_ said Tony, as Charles jumped onto his bed with a whoop like a particularly child-shaped alarm clock.

 

:i:

_1.5 minutes later_

 

“Two minutes past six in the morning, sir,” said David. He sounded smug.

Tony groaned into his pillow as Charles started dragging his duvet off his back.

 

:i:

_40 minutes later_

 

After a giant mug of coffee, eggs on toast and sliced half of pink grapefruit (Tony couldn’t remember eating proper breakfast before David came along), Tony felt more human. Charles had spent the last half hour feeding all the animals, changing his hoodie three times, brushing Robbie twice and generally sprinting around the room. As soon as Tony put his fork down, Charles materialised next to the breakfast island.

“Done?!” he asked, eyes big and blue. Robbie seized the opportunity and darted out of the living room. Tony ruffled Charles’ hair.

“Yeah buddy,” he said, “Let’s get shoes on hey?”

“I already got shoes on!”

Tony looked down. Brand new sneakers stared back up.

“Look, look,” said Charles, jumping up and down, “It lights up! Did you see?” he jumped a few more times. Maybe he would run out of energy and they wouldn’t have to go outside after all, thought Tony.

_I won’t!_

“David made them,” said Charles, dragging them to the lift. David, the ever helpful and omnipresent jerk that he is, presented Tony with his own shoes.

“Would you like me to help you with your laces, sir?” he said.

“You are setting a bad example,” said Tony sternly.

“I have no idea what you mean,” said David.

 

 

Charles insisted on not being carried.

“I’m not a  _baby_ ,” he said, but he held on to Tony’s hand very tightly as they descended past the ground floor and towards the basement where the cars were. The lift came to a smooth stop and JARVIS let them out, the lights in the garage already brightening. Charles’ new shoes squeaked a little. Tony’s hand was sweating.

“We’ll take Stark eleven,” said Tony, and the car lights flicked twice in response, “new reinforced windows.”

“Shall I drive?” asked David.

Tony opened the back door for Charles who clambered in, careful to keep his shoes off the leather upholstery.

“Yeah,” said Tony, hesitating only for a moment. He would probably crash the car with how distracted he was. He drummed his fingers on the car top, his own face reflected up from the smooth polished surface. David was watching him, and only moved to get into the drivers seat when Tony finally ducked into the car.

Charles scooted right over until he was plastered to Tony’s side, looking at him with big eyes as the car purred its way out of its parking slot. David wasn’t touching the driver’s wheel.

“You gotta put your seat belt on,” said Tony, swallowing past the lump in his throat and trying to keep his thoughts in check. “C’mon buddy.”

 _Fineee,_  said Charles, shuffling back properly in his seat so Tony could help him pull the seat belt over his chest and click it in place.  _Can we go to the park? Can we drive around lots?_

“We’ll see how you do, ‘kay?” said Tony distractedly as they pulled up out onto the street. They merged into the traffic with barely a second lag.

Charles and David had a lot of non-verbal conversations. Tony noticed the tell-tell signs now, asides from the long periods of comfortable silence. Charles had a habit of staring right at you when he talked, and this was no different (apparently) when he talked telepathically, face turned to David’s, looking for all the world like they were having a staring match (because Charles’ habits were David’s habits. Which would explain why the AI sometimes acted like an eight year old.)

But right now, Charles was staring at the road with bug eyes, blinking rapidly at the traffic and pedestrians out of the window, hands pressed up to the darkened class and leaving little marks. David wasn’t even pretending to be properly seated anymore, eyes mostly on Charles and Tony knew he was monitoring vital signs.

Tony lay a hand a top Charles’ head to catch his attention.

“You okay, buddy?”

Charles nodded, eyes still wide.

“Not too loud?”

Charles shook his head.

“He’s afraid if he projects, his shields might come loose,” said David. “But that our loud thoughts are helpful to give him something to focus on.”

Charles nodded. Immediately, Tony’s internal monologue seemed to pick up in self-conscious volume, darting between the grating worry that was sandpapering his ribs smooth and the simulations that JARVIS was still running on the inhibitor.

_Stop worrying!!_

“I’m not worried,” Tony lied.

Why did he even bother? Charles gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“Charles is handling this very well,” David interrupted, unhelpful as ever. “I suspect shielding is a natural part of his mutation, and prolonged exposure may help strengthen it.”

“Can we stay out  _all day_?” asked Charles, bouncing in his seat, barely restrained by the seat belt.

“No,” said Tony, panicking.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s your first time in the middle of the city and I don’t want you to get a headache. Or puke.”

“I won’t  _puke!_ ” said Charles, looking disgusted, little nose scrunching up.

“Uh-huh,” said Tony. “Then – “

But Charles was suddenly distracted by something they passed, half whacking his nose on the window in his overenthusiasm.

 _PET SHOP!_  he projected,  _David stop stop I want to go in go backwards go backwards you just passed it!_

“We’re not – “ Tony imagined trying to navigate the busy shopping street, a telepathic child suddenly having a seizure in the crowd because it was too loud; Charles’ sedatives heavy in the lining of his suit jacket. “- we’re not stopping right now. David, keep driving.”

“BUT  _ANIMALS_ ,” exclaimed Charles, straining and twisting to see out of the back windscreen, “ _Tonyyy._ ”

“The store is open every day until seven in the evening,” came JARVIS’ voice from the car speakers, “I’m sure you can visit another day.”

“Will the puppies still be there?” asked Charles as they rounded a corner. “And the bunnies?”

 David seemed to be enjoying driving – he kept changing lanes at regular intervals for no apparent reason other than aggravating everyone else. Horns blared.

(“Are you indicating,” said Tony, suspiciously.

“Of course,” said David, “I am following all legal requirements.”)

“Yes,” JARVIS was replying, the lying liar. There was no way he could know about future pet sales. Or perhaps he could.

“Okay,” said Charles, sitting obediently back down.

It was like Tony wasn’t even in charge. His children have all decided to mutiny and take over when he wasn’t looking. He sank lower into the leather seat and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Charles was still staring out the window, excitement and curiosity bright and bubbling and infectious. It leaked through their telepathic bond, and not for the first time did Tony wonder how exactly it fucking worked. Ever since Charles had been born, his telepathy had been a constant side project for Brian, whose own empathic mutation meant he could conduct experiments and use himself as a control. Tony felt like he was whacking around in the dark and hoping he’d accidentally hit the answer.

He wished Brian were here.

They drove for another fifteen minutes through the city, taking a meandering route of David’s choosing. It was another ten minutes before Tony realised that they hadn’t stopped once for a single traffic light. He frowned.

“David.”

“Yes?”

“You been playing with the traffic lights?”

David tilted his head in his patent I’m-innocent-and-you-can’t-prove-otherwise manner. At that moment, the car pulled up near the intersection and came to a smooth stop; the engine rumbling contentedly beneath their feet.

“No?” said David, the little shit.

 

Eventually, Tony gave in to Charles’ pleas to leave the car when they were on the homeward circuit. They were almost at Stark Tower, really, coming up from the south side, and Charles was tugging at Tony’s arm.

“Please!”

“Christ.”

“I want gee-lah-toe,” said Charles, “It tastes good! Every one is really happy there! I want some! Please? I want some!”

“I could make you gelato when we get home,” David offered, but Charles wasn’t deterred.

“With organic, healthy ingredients,” David persisted.

Charles folded his arms across his chest in a sulk.

“Oh for – David park the car.” Tony pulled out a pair of sunglasses from the seat’s back pocket, and pointed what he hoped was a stern finger at Charles. “We go in. We get icecream. We get out. Okay? I don’t want you in a crowd yet.”

“Okay!”

“In. Out.”

“ _Okay!_ ”

“Promise?”

“OKAY.”

 

Somehow, David managed to find a park in the middle of downtown New York within two minutes. Tony decided he would ignore the number of laws that was probably being broken in the name of some up-scale overpriced boutique ice cream.

 

The store wasn’t large. Three glass cases took up most of the shop space, spanning nearly the whole length of the store, behind which were a row of chairs and tables; barstool seating curving right by the big windows. There were large mirrors set into the walls as well as a orange-chocolate patterned wallpaper that hurt Tony’s eyes, even from behind his shades. There was a short line of people, and every single seat was taken. They joined the back of the queue.

Tony couldn’t remember the last time he had to wait in a  _line_.

He hoped nobody recognised him. By his hip, Charles was vibrating with delight, hopping on the spot so that his shoes flickered with their colourful lights. He was just tall enough to see into the display case, but he was standing on his tip-toes and didn’t have much height to spare. Behind them, David stood tall and calm, though from the silent concentrated look on both their faces, some serious discussion about ice cream flavours were probably taking place telepathically.

“Do you know what you want?” asked Tony.

Charles shook his head.

“Fruity stuff? Chocolate?”

_I don’t know!_

“Pick your favourite colours,” Tony suggested.

“No!”

Then suddenly they were at the front of the queue. One of the girls behind the counter beamed at Charles. Her name-tag said “Lyn.”

“Hello!” she said, completely ignoring Tony, “What would you like?”

Charles stared at her in panic. In Tony’s head, he was keeping up a constant buzz of  _ummm ummm ummm ummm umm ummmmm_ and a rapid fire shuffling of taste and senses which Tony realised was probably everyone else eating their ice-creams. It was like being under a dizzying strobe light, except on your tastebuds. And of course, the problem was that everyone liked their own flavours – why else would they have chosen them? – so it really helping with Charles decision. It just gave Tony a weird out-of-body experience. In his mouth.

“Do you want to try anything?” She winked at Charles, and then took a tiny plastic spoon from a cup. Sliding open glass lid, she dug the spoon in one of the tubs and handed it over the top. Tony took the spoon and passed it down.

“It’s crème brulee flavour,” said Lyn, seemingly unaware of the people behind them who were all crazed for ice cream judging by the way they were starting to jostle. “Do you like it?”

Charles nodded frantically.

_It’s good!_

“Okay buddy,” said Tony, taking the used spoon and putting it in the appropriate litter box, “But make your choice. In, out, remember?”

“UMMM,” said Charles.

On the up side, he seemed so utterly preoccupied with his gelato dilemma that there was absolutely no sign of telepathic discomfort.

“Look, sweetheart,” said Tony, to the girl, “We’ll take one scoop of every flavour. To go.”

“…every flavour?” Lyn squeaked.

“Yes. In cones.”

“ _Cones?!_ ”

David cleared his throat.

“Charles’ would like three scoops in  _one_  cone. One crème brulee, one salted caramel and the toasted pear.”

The girl looked enormously relieved.

“Okay,” she said, sliding a wrapped cone off the towering stack with a practiced flick of the wrist and grabbing the silver scoop.

“And I would like a scoop of blueberry ricotta, please.”

Tony glared at David over the top of his sunglasses.

“Hold on,” he said, “Who said you could have any ice-cream?”

David and Charles gave him identical innocent blinks.

“But David wants to try some!” said Charles.

“Here you go,” said Lyn, who had finished balancing all three balls of gelato on the cone. David took it from her as she made up his one, passing it carefully to Charles (who looked like Christmas had come early.)

“Thank you,” said Charles, looking angelic. The girl was melting where she stood.

“David doesn’t need to eat,” said Tony.

“But that’s not  _fair,_ ” Charles wheedled. He held out his cone up to Tony.

“You can have some of mine.”

Tony sighed and waved his phone across the scanner Lyn held out to him. “I’m okay buddy.”

 _It’s really good!_  said Charles.

“Don’t drop it. And don’t eat too fast, you’ll get brain freeze.” said Tony, guiding Charles out of the line by a hand on his head so Charles could concentrate on his ice cream. David trailed behind them, his own ice cream in one hand and looking just as young as his charge.

Charles was licking the topmost blob of ice-cream by sticking his tongue all the way out, whilst trying to watch his cone at the same time. He was going cross-eyed with the effort and Tony quickly held up his phone to take a picture. Then he forwarded it to Pepper.

Tony resolved to buy Charles all the ice cream he wanted in the world, if only he would smile like this every day. (By the time they got to the car, Charles had managed to get ice cream on his nose; his cheek and all over his chin.)

 

:i:

 

 

> _Xavier Estate, Westchester.  
>                    Seven Years ago._
> 
>  

Ever since Brian got married, Christmas was relegated to his giant sprawling mansion in Westchester. Before that, they used to spend it at Tony’s place in New York, getting completely drunk and setting off too many experimental fireworks just because they could.

But now it was Westchester (which really, was too fucking far away) because it was a  _family_ affair. It had made Tony uncomfortable, to be honest, and he had skipped them the Christmas right after Brian got hitched because it was one thing losing your best friend and quite another for him to marry a bitchy lawyer. Tony had spent that Christmas very drunk, and then spent New Years throwing up for hours. He only stopped drinking when Rhodey came by and threw him into the shower. Brian didn’t talk to him for  _weeks_.

But that was then and this was now.

Well, it was still a family thing, huge and overly suffocating in Tony’s opinion. Francis Xavier – Brian’s father – was alright; he had completely mellowed out in his old age and spent all his time playing chess, writing articles and keeping the ducks fat with wholegrain bread. Sharon’s family, on the other hand, were absolute sharks. And whilst Sharon’s parents liked Brian well enough, her brother absolutely did not. It was sort of hilarious watching Brian get more and more pissed off as Christmas progressed (and thereby become more and more polite).

“I need you to run interference,” Tony had said when they finally pulled up on the gravelled oval. Rhodey cut the engine and raised his eyebrows.

“Why me?”

“So I can escape without having to talk to everyone about the fucking weather,” said Tony grumpily, banging open the car door and getting out. It was snowing. It was freezing. God.

“You are such a child, you know that?” Rhodey complained.

They got to the front door. They got to the foyer. Sharon appeared.

“Oh,” she said, upon seeing Tony. “You’re here.” Then she saw Rhodey (who was carrying all the gifts and bags) and her expression softened considerably.

“Hey,” said Rhodey, bravely diverting all attention before any of the other Markos could come out to gree them. Tony made a mad dash for the main staircase.

 

And that was how, a few hours later, he, Brian and the baby were hidden in Brian’s library – safely out of reach of the rest of the crowd (they had thrown Rhodey to the wolves, but since Xavier Senior was also downstairs, Rhodey would probably survive.)

Right now, life was great – they were watching baby Charlie giggle to himself in front of the heater, lying on his stomach in the warm glow while Brian and Tony shared a truly magnificent bottle of brandy. The library used to be pretty sparsely furnished, but ever since the arrival of the sprog, Brian had included a couple of squashy beanbags. Pillows and soft toys littered the floor. They had a whole hour before dinner.

Brian yawned hugely.

Tony eyed him over his glass.

“I think those bags under your eyes have doubled since the last time I saw you,” he said, “Still not sleeping?”

Brian shrugged.

It was strange, thought Tony, how much someone could change in a year. Having a kid would do that to you, he suspected. Not that Brian looked any older – he looked as he always did: same haircut, some baby face that made him look twenty not thirty.

Tony distracted himself by prodding Charlie with his toe.

“Oi,” said Brian, half-heartedly.

“Spawn keepin’ you up?” said Tony, poking Charles again. Charles stopped chewing on his faithful companion duck and wriggled to look at Tony with his big, blue eyes. He wriggled some more, slowly, slowly turning in a semi circle to face them. Tony snorted.

“Yeah, that’s you.”

“He’s starting to only project at me,” said Brian, “And Sharon sometimes but mostly me – probably because he can hear me best. Which is good…and bad. Good because Sharon can sleep, bad because I  _can’t_.”

“Fuck.”

“Tony!”

“What!”

Brian scooped Charles up and rested him against his shoulder. Charles made burbling noises, abandoning his duck to drool on his father’s tie. Brian didn’t seem to notice.

“Infant present!”

“Oh please,” said Tony, refilling their glasses with more brandy, “He’s telepathic. He probably knows all sorts of swear words already just from me being around.”

Brian looked horrified for a moment, patting Charlie’s hair. It was the exact same colour as Brians’ – they were almost carbon copies, right down to the shape of Charlies’ pout when he got sulky. Brian sighed and leaned back to fall against the nearest bean bag.

“All the more reason to figure out how to shield,” he said. “Distance is a failsafe, but. Well we never really figured out how to stop me from feeling people, so it’s a work in progress.”

“Might get JARVIS to run some simulations,” Tony suggested.

“Yeah,” said Brian, absently patting Charlie over and over.

“Buh,” said Charlie, then hiccupped.

“Yes Charlie!” said Brian, face lighting up, “Bug! That’s it, who’s clever?”

“Are you serious,” said Tony, “He didn’t say bug. He said buh. You could make an argument for “bruh” but not ‘bug,’”

Brian jiggled Charles like someone trying to get a cat to yodel. Charles merely grinned a gummy grin and made a grab for Brian’s nose.

“Come on,” said Brian, undeterred, “Say it again. Bug. Buggie. Yes, Charlie?  _Bug_.”

Charles only grinned harder, eyes crinkling.

“He’s so quiet,” Brian explained, “We’ve been trying to get him to use noises but he just yanks on my thoughts if he wants something. C’mon baby, you can do it. Say it again.”

Charles grabbed Brian’s finger and tried to chew it. Tony finished his glass with one gulp and set it behind him on the table.

“He’s not saying  _bug_ , you loser. Hey. Hey, Charlie, say Tony. TOE-NEE.”

“Ohh no you don’t,” said Brian, “He hasn’t even said Da or Ma yet, I refuse for his first words to be your name, Sharon will throw a fit.”

Tony cackled with laughter, “C’mon sprog, say it with me. Tooooeee-Neeee.”

Charles surveyed him seriously for a moment, big eyes serious even as he tried to bite through Brian’s wedding ring.

“Baby, no,” said Brian, trying hold in his own laughter.

Charles opened his mouth.

They both held their breaths.

Then Charles hiccupped, like a clicking dolphin – shattering the momentary anticipation. Brian laughed so hard he knocked his glass over, spilling scotch over the hardwood floor.

“Fuck!” he said, trying to roll out of the way and save his suit from being stained.

“LANGUAGE,” shouted Tony triumphantly. He was feeling contentedly warm inside, from the company and from the alcohol.

Charles was giggling too, wriggling in Brian’s arms as his father laughed.

“Oh,” said Brian, retrieving his glass and putting it on the table next to Tony’s, “Oh I  _have_  to show you something. It’s hilarious, hold him for a second.”

And with that he deposited Charles in Tony’s lap and got up, crossing the room to open the fridge behind one of the curving bookshelves. Charles was a warm weight in his lap. Tony was a bit scared to move or touch it.

“Uh,” he said, staring at Charles. Charles stared back.

_?????_

“UH, Bri…” said Tony.

He didn’t have long to panic though, because Brian was back with another glass in his hand. Inside was two slices of lemon. He resettled Charles against him (much to Tony’s relief) and handed Tony the glass, then plucked a slice of lemon out of it.

“Get out your phone,” he said. “I missed this last time. It was an accident.”

“I think I know where this is going,” said Tony gleefully, leaning backwards flat on the ground so he could retrieve his suit jacket and drag it over within reach. After some fumbling, he found his phone and trained it until Brian and Charlie filled the screen.

“Lights, camera – “ said Tony.

Brian angled Charlie to face the camera, head bent low as he held the piece of lemon to Charlies’ lips.

“Hey duckie, what’s this? It’s yummy. C’mon.”

Tony was trying to keep his hand steady for the video but failed. Brian glared at him, “You need to pretend or he’ll hear you waiting for the punchline, you idiot!”

“Sorry,  _jesus_ ,” said Tony, and tried to think harmless thoughts.

Charles’ wrinkled his nose.

“You have made him into a jaded soul,” said Tony, “He is wary of the world. He will never be the same again.”

“Here, Duck,” said Brian, making kissing noises.

“He’s never going to trust you again,” said Tony. “How could you do this.”

Finally, Charlie nommed at the lemon obediently. For a few moments, nothing.

Then his entire face screwed up into an expression of revulsion and horror.

At which point Brian and Tony both lost it.

 

And that’s how Sharon and Rhodey found them, ten minutes later, lying on the floor of the library, pissing themselves laughing. (They were replaying the video over and over. At some stage, they had also lost the second slice of lemon).

Balanced on Brian’s shaking chest, baby Charles was projecting a very sour lemon taste which lingered like an echo all the way through dinner.

 

:i:

 

 

 

 

> _Stark Industries, New York City.  
>  Present Day_

 

Pepper knocked before coming into the lab. Tony knew she did this not out of courtesy but as a self-preservation strategy to ensure that anything that could potentially explode was pointed well away from the door.

Not that Tony was working on anything that could explode right that second (for once)  - he had felt out of sorts all day. He found it increasingly harder and harder to concentrate when he was out of Stark Tower. It wasn’t so much Charles telepathic absence (he was still there, warm at the back of his mind) but the physical distance. Very distracting.

He turned the screens away from his face and grinned when Pepper set down a mug of coffee on the table in front of him.

“And that’s,” he said, making a lunge for the cup before she could change her mind, “why I love you.”

“Uh huh,” said Pepper, but she was smiling. She was holding her customary tablet along with a sheaf of papers. But today she also had newspapers. She plucked a few off the top of her pile and slid them across the table, pulling up a stool to the workbench.

“Have you seen these?”

“No,” said Tony, turning the clippings around to face him, “Been in here all morning. You could have just linked me though, if –  _hold on_.”

They were tabloid papers. The biggest one read “CHARLIE’S FIRST OUTING” Pictured was an enlarged crop photo, probably taken by a phone. In the picture, Tony was grinning down at Charles, who was holding his large ice cream cone with both hands; David’s face was turned away from the camera, towards the glass cabinets.

“That’s totally not his first ‘outing’,” said Tony, flicking through the other press cuttings. One of the snippets had a picture of David in profile as he held Charles off the floor to peer at the display of ice creams. The heading of that one read:  _WHO’S STARK’S HOT MANNY? EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS._

“Hot manny?” Tony repeated, indignantly, “Why does David get a hot mention and I don’t? I’m hot. You think I’m hot.”

“Do I.”

“Oh look it says I should have hired _you_  as the nanny. For some, and I quote,  _positive female presence_.”

“The interns in PR had a great morning,” said Pepper blithely, stealing a sip of Tony’s coffee and completely ignoring his comments. “Such a nice change from the usual media monitoring. No nudity, no drunkenness…”

“No vomit,” interjected JARVIS helpfully from the monitor.

“Exactly!” said Pepper, happily, “It’s doing wonders for your reputation already.”

“Uh  _huh_ ,” said Tony, “Is that what Obie said?”

Pepper sighed, putting down her tablet on the table.

“You know they’re getting annoyed,” she said, “You skipping out on all the meetings doesn’t help either. What he really wants is the suit but you keep blowing him off!”

At the mention of the suit, Tony threw his hands up in frustration.

“I got the repulsor engines done didn’t I?”

He had invented them just to get Obie off his back; an insistent presence that constantly took Tony away from the Tower, from Charlie and David. He hadn’t felt so torn since his childhood, when the idea of running away and just creating his own things had seemed so plausible and wonderful. Then his parents had died. And the weight of Stark Industries had come crashing down onto his shoulders.

“The board is worried about your commitment. Obediah is doing his best, I think, but – “

“I’ve told him again and again, I need to make an inhibitor that works. Charlie needs to go to school at some point, he needs to go out and – and – not be on his own all the time. And he can’t do that if he gets a pounding headache after every few hours!”

“Have you thought – “

“You know why Brian moved them out all that way. I don’t want Charlie to have to live in the middle of no where. It’s. I mean, certain frequencies do work but it seems to interfere with all the electronics – but any less and it’s useless. It’s like his telepathy is getting  _stronger_.”

Tony buried his face in his hands for a moment, overwhelmed with frustration. He felt Pepper’s hand on his wrist; soft and familiar. He let out a huff of self-depreciation and laughed.

“Oh Tony,” she said, very quietly.

The news clippings lay between them on the table, forgotten.

“I just can’t concentrate on the suit,” he admitted. “It’s. …It reminds me of that cave.”

He took another gulp of coffee just for something to do. It turned out to be a mistake because his hand shook. He quickly put it down again.

“Obie wants the suit or David, and he wants both for the military contracts. Weapons. I don’t want to be responsible for any more deaths, Pep.”

“Tony, you’re not – “

“I wanted to stop this the moment I got back. You know I did.”

“And I think it was just as well that David managed to talk you down from holding a press conference there and then on the airbase. Christ, Tony, you know it’s not that easy – Stark Industries is built on – “

_(You never think about the consequences of your actions)_

“I know what it’s built on!” snapped Tony, more harshly than he meant to. Pepper fell silent, lips pressed in a line. But her eyes were warm.

“Stark Industries is what dad gave me,” said Tony after a long pause, “The bombs, the guns, the arc reactor prototypes. Do you know what it was like, seeing my name on the thing that…– I don’t want to leave Charles a legacy built on  _killing_ , Pepper. Brian would have hated it.”

_(Well. I hope it’s worth it.)_

Tony stopped himself, voice caught in his throat.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in a moment of utter loss. He heard the rustle of Pepper’s satin dress, the sound of footsteps. Then the scent of perfume, familiar as Pepper tentatively drew him into an embrace. Tony kept his eyes shut, but allowed his arm to drop.

“It’s been.” Speaking was like swallowing knives. “two years.”

Pepper’s hand ran soothing circles on his back, but she said nothing.

“Two…” he said again, and what followed was not a laugh, nor a sob, but something in between. “And I still forget, when I’m in here…because he knew more about psionic communication that I did, biological engineering was never – so I go to give him a call – “

“ _Tony,_ ” said Pepper, holding him close. “It’s okay. Shhh. It’ll be okay.”

Tony held on to the sleeve of her blazer jacket, and tried to draw his breaths back inside his lungs like a child chasing after water in cupped hands.

 

:i:

 

(Three years ago) 

 

> ‘ _Allo!_   _You’ve reached Brian Xavier. Sorry I’m not around at the moment. Leave a note and I’ll get back to you._

Start Recording [24-02-2029||04:31:55]: 

> _Okay look. – seriously, voicemail? Again? You’re not that busy. You’re probably sitting at home right now, playing with – ….are you still angry about what I said? Because you know you said some shit too._
> 
> _…JARVIS says you’re going out of town for the week; call me when you get in. I have a bottle of Sullivans that you’ll love. Or I’m going to drink the whole thing in a plastic mug._

:i:

 

Brian and Sharon Xavier die on the 25th of February.

The car is a blackened shell, metal crushed like it had been squeezed by a giant fist. Tony remembers wondering if it was some kind of curse, that both his parents and his best friend would be lost in strange, mundane traffic accidents.

He remembers wondering if it would be his turn, soon.

He remembers waiting for a call.

 

:i:

  

 

> _New York City,  
> _ _Present Day._

 

The gelato trips become part of the routine: they go almost every day; sometimes walking, sometimes taking the car after a few hours driving around the city. After frequenting the first gelataria several days in a row, paparazzi began turning up. And even though David wrecked all of their cameras and phones, their presence made Tony nervous in a way he’d never been before.

They began gelato-store hopping after JARVIS presented them with a helpful recommendations list. Their meals had gotten aggressively healthy as a result (David was the most merciless dietician Tony had ever met), but Charles was improving faster than either of them had anticipated.

 “What’s this,” said Tony, holding up the tablet as they pulled up at a red light. Charles was learning about the periodic table today. David was learning about not manipulating the New York grid. Tony suspected he had been sulking for a good ten minutes now.

“Sodium!” said Charles, without missing a beat.

Tony narrowed his eyes.

“I never know whether you’re cheating or not,” he said, but flicked to the next picture.

“Am  _not!_ ”

“Because cheaters don’t get ice cream.”

_I am so not cheating!_

_Haha, I believe you buddy. Just teasing._

“Did your dad really make a new one of these,” asked Charles, swiping at the tablet.

“Yeah,” said Tony, “Made it right here in Stark Industries actually. I’ve resynthesized it since but here’s a pic of the old one.”

Charles oohed and ahhed at the photos.  _A chip off the old block_ , thought Tony.  _Nerd._

“It’s so glowy,” he said, projecting  _impressed_. “Can you make me one?”

“What, your own element?”

“Yes!” Charles bounced up and down within the constraints of his seat belt. “I want to name one.”

“I could synthesize a new element for you, Charles,” said David, who wasn’t even pretending to use the steering wheel. Beside him, the gear-shift moved smoothly on its own and Tony only rolled his eyes.

“What would it be called?”

“Char-lee-zee- _UM_!” said Charles, clearly having put a fair bit of thought into this. He clapped his hands, “Yours can be Tony-um, and David’s can be….”

He trailed off.

“I don’t need one,” said David, smiling, “You can have two.”

“I want them to glow,” said Charles, pulling the tablet out of Tony’s hands and scrolling all the way back to the photo gallery. “Like this,” he clarified, holding it up, “But maybe a different colour.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Tony, feeling unbearably fond.

 

The gelataria du jour is a new six-month-old boutique nestled in the CBD, behind the tall glass banks, fenced in by white collars and Italian leather shoes. It was a blink-and-miss it storefront of clear glass and a pale grey logo. They parked in the adjacent street, in front of a beautiful vintage Bentley.

Tony stared.

The Bentley gleamed in the afternoon sun, looking barely one owner from new; glossy as sin. Howard and Tony’s car collection tended towards sports cars, but he could definitely appreciate this. He took a photo with his phone and forwarded it to Rhodey with a drooling emoticon.

Charles tugged on his hand.

 _Come onn_ , he said, pulling and digging his heels in. Tony snorted and put his phone away in his pocket; allowing himself to be dragged around the corner, David following sedately behind them.

There wasn’t a line this time; the couple in front of them rattled off their order with the flair of those who came here at least three times a week. There were seats arranged in a row in front of the glass store front, but the boutique opened up a little towards the back to reveal tiny round tables and wrought iron chairs. A trio of girls sat nearest the counter, shopping at their feet, clustered conspiratorially around three cups of gelato. Near the side windows sat two gentlemen, one in horrendous tweed and the other a coal-black suit that looked sharp enough to exceed the speed limit. He was also wearing snakeskin shoes and sunglasses in doors.

Tony realised  _he_  was also wearing sunglasses in doors. He contemplated taking them off – but left them resolutely on.

“May I try the melon?” Charles was asking the young man behind the counter.

“Of course you can!” said the boy, in the same voice that people used to talk to puppies.

Charlie really had gotten very good with strangers very fast, working those big kitten eyes and chatting to all and sundry. There was one memorable incident when Tony had been preoccupied with his phone and when he had next looked up, someone was asking Charlie whether David was his father, and were they from England? Had they been in New York long or just on holiday?  _The sheer cheek!_

“What happened to salted caramel being your favourite?”

“I have to try  _different_  ones,” said Charles in a “duh” tone, “David needs data.”

“David needs data,” Tony repeated, “About ice cream.”

“So we may make it at home,” said David.

Charles nodded, licking the melon ice cream spoon carefully, then passing the rest to David, who also licked it, then passed it back. Charles slurped the rest.

“Oi, what about me?” said Tony.

 _Oops_ , said Charles, smiling innocently up at him. Tony sighed and ruffled his hair.

The boy behind the counter held out a spoon to Tony.

“Here y’go, sir,” he said, grinning.

Tony glared at him over the rim of his glasses while Charles giggled. Tony took the spoon with a sigh, and popped it in his mouth. He shrugged. It was rather good.

“Can I please haaaave,” said Charles,  _“…onestrawberryonemelonandonesaltycaramel._  Please.”

“In a waffle cup,” said David.

“Waffle cup,” agreed Charles.

“With toffee cream.”

Charles paused.

“But I want vanilla cream!”

“You haven’t tried toffee cream before,” said David, reasonably.

“But vanilla cream will be like ANOTHER SCOOP.”

“Buddy,” said Tony, “I worry about your sweet tooth.”

 

Tony paid for the gelato and coffee whilst David and Charles gathered a fort worth of paper napkins, spoons and went to find seats.

“Cute kid,” said the shop boy, setting the scanner back down behind the glass cabinet.

“Yeah,” said Tony, feeling inordinately proud.

“Um,” said the boy, “I didn’t want to make a fuss before but – uh – could I possibly get your autograph?”

He smiled hopefully, with all his teeth.

“Sure,” said Tony, because this boy had been wise enough to give Charles not one dollop but two dollops of cream: vanilla  _and_ toffee. The boy’s smile widened to epic proportions and he fumbled beneath his apron and came up with a well-chewed sharpie. A few more frantic moments of searching and he handed Tony his phone. It was a Stark phone.

“Good taste,” said Tony.

“Got it for graduation!” said the boy, “Can you – yeah sign the back?”

Tony scrawled his signature on the metal back of the phone, capped the sharpie and handed it back, swapping for his hot coffee.

“Cheers man!”

Tony turned away, casting his eyes around – and found David standing by an empty table, holding a cup of slowly melting ice cream.

Charles was talking to the two gentlemen by the window. He had his head tilted to one side, like a curious baby bird in front of a mirror. The gentleman in tweed was wearing a soppy smile whilst his companion was smirking like it was an Olympic sport. Neither were moving their lips.

Tony frowned and strode over as quickly as he could without spilling scalding hot coffee all over himself.

The gentlemen in tweed glanced up, and Charles spun around.

“You annoying strangers, Charlie?”

 _Charles!_  Tony projected as loudly and sternly as he could, heart thudding, _what have I said about talking to strangers with your telepathy?_

_But you’ll never guess what –_

_To NOT DO IT._

_But Dad –_

“Oh not at all,” said Tweed, still smiling, “we were just guessing each others’ gelato flavours.”

“Were you,” said Tony.

“Oh  _yess_ ,” said the companion, “Your boy practically  _read my min –_ Ow!”

 Tweed stood up. He glared at his companion in a squinty sort of way, like a cross school teacher.

“Oh, you’re no  _fun,_  angel.”

“We’d best be going,” said Tweed. He laid a hand on Charles’ head (Tony had to fight the urge to punch him in the face), “It was lovely meeting you.”

He looked at Tony, who blinked, feeling like he had been abruptly doused in warm embrace. “And you too, Mister Stark.”

“…Right.”

Tony nudged Charles gently but firmly towards the spare table – though by the time they sat down, the two gentlemen had quite vanished. Tony took his sunglasses off, rubbing his eyes. It must be the lack of sleep, he thought.

When he opened his eyes again, he glared at David.

“What?” Tony demanded, “Why did you let him do that?”

“Charles was in no danger,” said David, calmly rescuing the melting ice cream and handing Charles a clean spoon.

“No – you can’t go around letting Charlie – “ Tony took a deep breath, glancing around the mostly deserted café. The girls were doing a very bad job of pretending not to be eavesdropping. He turned to Charles, who was trying to shrink very small in his seat.

 _I thought we made it very, very clear, that you shouldn’t talk to people you don’t know with your –_ Tony made a wriggling motion with his fingers beside his temple, -  _It’s not safe. Understand? If people find out, it is_  not _safe._

Charles was staring at his ice cream, projecting a roil of confusion and petulance and guilt.

 _But they weren’t scared of me,_ said Charles;  _they wanted to talk to me!_

_Were they telepaths too? Mutants?_

Charles shrugged, not meeting Tony’s eyes.

Tony took a deep breath, trying to calm his own emotions. It was a lot harder when you had to keep a poker face inside your own brain.

_Just don’t do it again, okay? I’m not – I’m not angry at you, I’m not angry at all. I’m just worried. Promise you won’t go around doing that again. Not until you’re a bit older anyway. Alright? Promise or we won’t do these trips anymore._

“Okay,” said Charles, very quietly.

They ate the ice-cream mostly in silence.

 

 

Ten minutes later, they left the little gelato store and made their way back to the car – only to find that two of the four tyres were completely flat. There were no visible slash marks, and David could find no puncture holes.

“What the  _fuck!_ ” said Tony.

 

Behind their car, there was an empty spot where a Bentley had been.

 

:i:

  

 

>                    _Stark Tower, New York City.  
>                    A few days later._

 

Once you got the hang of it, the shielding thing was like breathing: you only realised you had been doing it when you purposefully stopped. It was easy because David would talk to him steadily and constantly until the background dropped away into a pleasant, indistinct buzz of voices, just loud enough to stop the buzzing in his ears. As the days passed, the headaches lessened until they disappeared altogether.

Sometimes, voices would pop out, particularly loud or emotional – accidentally snagging his attention like a hook until David pulled him back in with a firm but steady  _< < Charles? >>_. He couldn’t stop himself from overhearing yet, but that was okay because he could feel Tony’s worries slowly leeching away with every outing that didn’t end in tears or a bloody nose.

He hadn’t tried to talk to anyone else after Tony got so scared though (the fear felt sour and made Charles’ stomach clench with a sick weigh that he was sure wasn’t his own). On the way back home, he had  _tried_ to explain that he hadn’t started the conversation: the man had  _spoke_  to him. But Tony just made him promise again and again that he wouldn’t go talking to people  _like that._

_(…a slip up is one thing, a bigger one doesn’t bear thinking about, what if someone panics, they’ll take him, they’ll take him, no Brian was right, low level empathy is enough of a risk on the records as it is, no, can’t let it, no - )_

They hadn’t gone out the next day, but Tony was calmer now, working on Charles’ inhibitor as Charles played with holographic molecules in one corner of the lab. He was meant to be looking at more of the models but David was cooking lunch and it was much more fun to throw H2O bobbles at Robbie anyway.

The batted at the air for the umpteenth time, with a thoroughly pissy expression on his face when his paw went right through.

“Hey, Charlie,” called Tony from across the room – the music dialled down a little – “C’mere for a sec and try this on.”

 _But I’m buildingggg,_ Charles whined from his beanbag on the floor.

 _Won’t take a sec,_ said Tony, distracted but affectionate. Sighing a deep sigh of the put upon, Charles put down the latest science-defying chemical compound he was making and hoisted Robbie into his arms. Robbie flopped over his elbow as soon as Charles got one hand beneath his fluffy butt and licked Charles’ t-shirt.

“You’re so fat,” said Charles, but hugged Robbie all the same. The cat made a meowing sort of sqwuack.

“Charlie!”

“Okay!”

Charles made his way obediently across the lab and deposited Robbie at Tony’s floor (the cat made a beeline back for the vacated beanbag, the traitor).

“We’re going to see if this one makes any difference, okay?” said Tony, holding something that looked like a plain metal band, wide enough to fit around Charles’ head. It was attached to wires though, which snaked in a messy loop around Tony’s right arm and was attached to the battery inside his chest.

“But I don’t  _need_ one,” said Charles, for the hundredth time.

“You don’t know that,” said Tony, like he always did, “Now I want you to put this on and tell me if you can hear me, okay?”

Charles nodded, and let Tony fit the metal circlet around his head. It was heavier than it looked, and sort of vibrated. It was very warm too.

_RIGHT THINK LOUD YES LOUD THOUGHTS PROJECTING CAN YOU HEAR ME CHARLIE C-_

“Yes!” shouted Charles, because it was so loud it made his head ring. Abruptly, Tony went quiet.

 _Ooop,_  said Charles.

_You’ve got to be kidding me._

Tony sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He was projecting frustration all over the room.

“It’s not making a difference is it?”

“Um,” said Charles. “Maybe you got louder.”

“Fu – “  _ck_  – “-dge.” Said Tony. He took the circlet off Charles’ head and reached beneath his shirt to unattach the wires, throwing the lot onto the lab table. He pulled Charles into his lap on the tall stool and  snapped a nano-ball onto Charle’s wrist. It made a burping sound.

“What are we gonna do, buddy?” said Tony, swivelling in his chair (Charles’ loved swivelling), “I’m stumped. I’m never stumped. This is really – annoying.”

Charles shrugged, squishing the ball into a flat dumpling.

“I dun’ need it,” he said again, “David says my shielding is getting really good, he says we should do crowds ‘cause that’s the quickest way for me to ack- am- ack – “

 _< < Acclimatise,>>_ said David amidst the mozzarella.

“ – accaleematize,” said Charles.

Tony narrowed his eyes at him.

“That’s a very big word.”

Charles smiled his very best smile, and Tony let out a breath and ruffled his hair instead.

“Why are you still a midget?” he said, transferring Charles to the chair and standing up with a yawn, “Where does all that organic free range super health food go? Huh?”

As if on queue, JARVIS said:

“Sir, dinner is ready.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Tony. He glanced at Charles – “I can hear you getting hungry you know, don’t think you’re being subtle.”

Pepper and David and Jarvis had made a plan to get Charles to get Tony to eat meals at proper tables and not in his lab anymore. So far, the score was 42 to Charles and 2 to Tony. Robbie meowed from the beanbag at the talk of food and hopped off onto the ground, padding across the room rapidly, tail swishing.

“Yeah, you too fluffy,” said Tony, pointing a laser cutter at the cat. Then he tossed that onto the table as well.

Charles slid off the seat and trailed after them to the door. He gave Tony an innocent nudge, tugging his attention from where it was already straying to food.

“Yeah?” said Tony, pausing by the open glass doors,  “C’mon buddy, the cat’s gonna beat us up the stairs.”

 “What’s the date today?”

The climbed the stairs. Charles could smell the food (though he wasn’t sure whether that was his nose or David’s) and it made his tummy rumble. Tony patted his back absently. Tony did a lot of patting when he wasn’t thinking about it.

“Uhh, Wednesday.”

“I believe it’s Thursday, sir,” corrected JARVIS.

“Whatever. That.”

Charles waited patiently.

They reached the top of the stairs.

Tony hummed something beneath his breath and they both went to the sink to wash their hands. They dried their hands. Tony still didn’t look like he was going to add anything else to the subject.

 _I think he’s forgotten,_  said Charles.

 _< < I told you so,>>_ said David,  _< < Precedent indicates he has never remembered. >>_

_DOES HE REMEMBER MINE?_

_< < Yes. >>_

_Oh._

_< < I remind him. >>_

_D:_

“Is this an entire dinner of rabbit food?” said Tony indignantly from the dining table.

 

By the time they were eating the tomato and mozzarella salad, Charles couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tony was beyond hope. He gave it one last try.

“Tonyyy,” he said.

Tony paused in the middle of picking out all the fresh mozzarella from the basil and tomatoes.

“What’s…the day in four days?”

“Uh,” said Tony, giving Charles a suspicious squint, “Monday.” He popped a ball mozzarella in his mouth, “Why.”

David looked from Tony to Charles then back again. Charles pouted in disappointment.

“It’s PEPPER’S BIRTHDAY,” said Charles, indignantly.

Tony stopped eating.

Charles folded his arms across his chest.

“What do you mean, Pepper’s birthday.”

“The day she was born,” said David.

“You forgot!” cried Charles.

“Now wait just a – “

“It’s the same day every year,” said JARVIS.

“You  _forgot!_ ”

“I think ‘ _forgot’_  is a strong word,” said Tony, “I totally kne-“

He stopped at Charles’ unimpressed stare.

 _I can feel you lying. >_  _L_

Tony leaned back in his chair with a dramatic noise.

“Alright. Fine. You caught me. I forgot. I don’t know these things! How do you know when Pepper’s birthday is anyway?”

“I have it on file,” said David, smiling.

Tony brandished his fork at him.

“I will donate you to a sewage recycling company.”

Charles wriggled impatiently in his seat until he could kick Tony in the knee.

“Ow!” said Tony, but stopped having a staring match with David to give Charles his attention.

“Can we please focus,” said Charles, annunciating each word very carefully.

Tony gave him another suspicious look.

“There is something very freaky about a fetus like you saying that phrase,” he said at last – but Charles could hear him thinking about how Bri used to get the same exasperated look and use the same exasperated tone and the same ‘ _seriously, can we concentrate on the matter at hand?’ No, Tony we don’t need any pizza right now, Christ._

“Charles has been doing some research,” said David, “For Ms. Pott’s birthday present.”

Tony looked like a man who just received a get-out-of-jail-free card.

“Yeah?” he said, “Great. What is it?”

 

:i: 

 

 

> _367 Madison Avenue, New York City._  
>                    The next day.

Tony had Happy drop them all off outside the store because it was easier than trying to fight the tourists walking. Charles liked the way different languages would wash and slosh around each other just beyond the car, and if he didn’t concentrate, it was just a blur of impressions and emotions.

“Right, David,” said Tony, putting sunglasses on and helping Charles’ with his own pair, “Remember. Wipe all cameras or phones. We can’t have this on the web or some tabloid if it’s going to be a surprise. Right?”

Charles wondered if he could learn to make people not see them.

“I have already disabled give phone cameras,” said David nonchalantly. At Happy’s incredulous stare, he raised an eyebrow. “They noticed the nameplate on the car,” David clarified, “Perhaps it would be prudent at some point in the near future to have a mode of transportation that does not have your last name stamped on it, sir?”

Tony waved a hand and drained his glass of water.

“Righto buddy, you ready?"

Charles nodded vigorously too, for good measure.

_Not too loud?_

_LET’S GO!!!_

“Gimme a call once you’re done,” said Happy. “I’ll go pick up the rest of the stuff now yeah?”

“What stuff?” said Tony.

“Supplies,” said David, mysteriously.

Charles pushed him towards the car door.

 

 

The store was as sparkly as the website suggested; with big glass fronts like all the other stores down the street, the lights making everything reflect off each other a gazillion times. Charles hopped with excitement, clutching the tablet with the pictures of all the necklaces that he and David had picked out.

The store was playing soft piano music and smelt nice and flowery. There were glass cases  _everywhere,_  and full of every sparkly thing imaginable – Charles didn’t know where to look first. It was better than the website. It was so  _shiny._

An exclamation caught his attention,  _IT’S TONY STARK, HOLY SHIT. Oh my god. In the flesh. Oh my god I can touch him._

A young man in a suit had detached himself from where he had been standing near the door. Charles felt silly wearing sunglasses indoors and took them off, stuffing into the pouch of his hoodie.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” said the man, beaming, “Are – “

Tony held up a hand.

“Charlie’s here to pick out a birthday present for my, uh, assistant,” he said, patting Charles on the head, “He doesn’t like strangers. Can you close up shop for an hour or so.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Uh. Um. I need to ask my – “

A girl materialised behind them. She was thinking about how cute Charles was and how much she wanted to give him a hug because he was  _adorable eeeeeeeeee._ Charles blinked rapidly and clutched his tablet, backing into David’s leg.

“We have a private viewing salon up stairs,” she said pleasantly, shooting the man a death glare over the top of Charles’ head, “With refreshments.”

“Yeah that works,” said Tony, shrugging, “Charlie already picked stuff out so it shouldn’t take long. Right buddy?”

“Um,” said Charles, staring at the row of miniature animals in the nearest glass case.

 

_Two hours later._

Charles was sitting at the table with half the stores’ worth of jewellery and decorations strewn around him on satin trays, looking for all the world like a normal kid in an (albeit very expensive) candy store. Even though Tony had brought work with him in case he was bored, he had been reluctantly drawn into the discussion and was now very invested.

“But is it  _sparkly_ enough?” he was saying.

Charles considered the five necklaces.

“I like this one,” he said, pointing, “But Pepper’s favourite colour is blue! This one is clear.”

“I’m sure we can get this in blue,” said Tony.

“Um,” said the shop assistant, whose name was Mikaela. “We have a similar design in blue crystal,” she said, hurrying across the room to a cabinet and returning with a velvet tray and said necklace splayed out on top.

“But the stones are so small,” said Tony, critically.

“Ms Potts has demonstrated a preference for more subtle designs,” said David, “Have you considered that she may like a simpler necklace such as this one?”

He held up a tray with a necklace with matching sapphire-coloured drop earrings.

“That is just a rock on a chain,” said Tony, accusingly.

“The cut is actually very –“ Mikaela started, but was interrupted by Tony again.

“The only acceptable rocks on chains,” said Tony, “Are diamonds.”

 _FOR FUCK’S SAKE_ , Mikaela was projecting.

Charles giggled, then tried to wipe it off his face when she gave him a curious look.

“What about this one,” said Tony, swiping through the pictures on his tablet, “This red one.”

“Pepper likes  _blue,_ ” said Charles for the hundredth time.

“Then we get it in blue!”

“We actually don’t usually do custom orders,” said Mikaela, also for the hundredth time, “But Nick has gone to ask and should be back soon.”

 “I really think she would prefer something less…gaudy,” said David plaintively.

_< < Look, here are the pieces she already owns. There is a distinct trend. >>_

_But this is sparklier! It’s better! She’ll know we love her if it sparkles lots, if It’s small she might not!_

_ << That logic is very flawed,>>_ said David petulantly.

“Maybe we should change the chains to gold instead of silver while we’re at it,” said Tony thoughtfully, “Gold is better. What’you think buddy?”

Charles stared at all the necklaces and earrings and bracelets around them.

“I don’t know,” he wailed.

“Blue and gold works. I think.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to consider thi-“

The door to the salon burst open. The man stood there, panting slightly, a phone in his hand. He looked slightly wild about the eyes.

“Mr. Stark, they said yes – they can – they can get necklace made, but will need at least two days.”

“How long does it take to stick some crystals together?” Tony demanded, “If you deliver them to Stark Tower I can make it myself.”

The man clutched his phone.

“No, no, tha’ts not – we’ll have it delivered.”

Mikaela was facepalming herself with startling vividness in her own head.

“ _Alllright_ ,” said Tony, slapping his knee. He looked around him at the mess of jewellery. “We done?”

Charles held up one of the crystal animals he had been hoarding through the last two hours of jewellery vetting. It was tiny dog made up of clear and brown crystal, with black beady eyes picked out in sparkly stone. It even had a gold collar.

“Look,” he said, hopefully, “it’s like Max!”

Tony shrugged.

“Okay, let’s get that too. Anything else?”

David was extremely put out.

_She will like it!_

_< < But not because she will wear it.>>_

_Why are you so poopy._

_< < This was not an informed purchase. It goes against all precedent. >>_

“Um,” said Nick from the Salon door, “Could I – Mr. Stark, could I get your autograph?”

“Oh my god,” said Mikaela.

 

:i:

 

“I hope you’re free on Monday because we are taking you out for a birthday dinner at seven. Happy will pick you up. Rhodey is coming.”

“ _WHAT?_ ”

“What what?”

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

“I know  _things!_ ”

“Did David tell you.”

“…I resent that.”

“Oh Charles you  _sweetie,_ come here.”

“…”

“…”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh fine, you. Here.  _Better?_ ”

“Asldkjf.”

 

:i:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Monday Evening._

Charles had never had raw fish before.

He poked it with one of his chopsticks suspiciously. It bounced. And there was so much ice. Were they meant to eat that too?

_< < No, definitely not. >>_

David said Pepper loved Japanese cuisine, and so he had made reservations to a very posh restaurant – at least Charles thought it was very posh; they had their own big room and everything and it was awesome because they didn’t have to sit on chairs but on the ground and put their feet into a hole and they had soup which you had to pour  _over_ the outside of a teapot. Every now and then someone would appear and put more food on the table, their thoughts in a pleasant wash of impressions and a language Charles didn’t understand unless he concentrated.

They were sitting around the table: Pepper, Charles, David, Tony, Rhodey, Happy. Robbie and Max weren’t allowed to come, which was sad.

“We can get you some udon if you want something hot?” said Pepper.

“But why is it  _raw_?” Charles wanted to know.

“We could probably get some teriyaki chicken if Charlie wants,” said Rhodey (Charles liked Rhodey, he was always nice and wasn’t loud and squeamish about Charles’ ‘empathy’). “I probably want some.”

“Is it raw, though,” asked Charles.

“Nah,” said Rhodey, grinning, “It’s cooked. The sauce is great.”

Pepper was surveying the menu on the tablet set into the table. “Or we can get you some ramen if you like, though you’ll get full very fast.”

Rhodey slapped Tony upside the head.

“Oi, leave some salmon for the rest of us you hog.”

Tony balanced a nigiri salmon in his chopsticks. There was something green on it, smeared right across.

“Hey, Charlie, try this.”

“Actually – “ David started.

“You shut up,” said Tony, holding the sushi right up to Charles’ face. “C’mon you’ll like it I promise. It tastes better this way.”

“But it’s raw!” said Charles.

“Try it!”

_< < Don’t do it. >>_

Charles opened his mouth obediently and Tony pushed the entire sushi in.

“Now chew fast. Go!”

Charles chewed.

He probably should have paid more attention to the  _uh oh uh oh uh oh_ Pepper was projecting and the barely suppressed amusement from Rhodey and Happy but he wasn’t and everything was fine, the texture was a bit strange and then –

His mouth was on  _fire._  His nose was on fire. His eyes were streaming with tears but he couldn’t spit out food at a fancy restaurant! Charles swallowed it, then made a sad noise, waving his hand in front of his mouth.

“I told you not to take it!” said David, as Charles cried and Rhodey, Pepper and Happy all roared with laughter. Tony had taken out his phone and was filming.

Charles hated all of them. He had no friends.

“Drink this,” said David, pushing a glass of iced lemon water into Charles’ hand and Charles glugged it down, the coolness soothing the burn in his mouth.

Alright, David was his friend. But that’s it.

“Falls for it every time!” Tony was crowing, phone still held up, “Every time!”

“Oh my god,” Pepper was saying through her giggling, she dabbed at Charles’ chin with a napkin, “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, are you okay? Tony stop it!”

Rhodey was wheezing against his hand, and Happy was barely keeping the laughter back. He tried to take a sip of sake and nearly choked when he looked at Charles’ again.

“You’re mean!” Charles announced, glaring at Tony.

Tony finally put down his phone, face slightly red from laughing so hard.

“Buddy,  _your face_. That is one for the 21 st.”

“Put it on Youtube,” said Rhodey.

“Do it now,” said Happy. “Actually can I do it, I’ll get so many subscribers.”

Pepper pulled Charles into a hug.

“There, there,” she said, “We won’t let Tony do that again.”

“This is why you should always trust  _me,”_  said David sagely, rearranging the sushi on a plate in front of Charles and shielding it from Tony’s reach with his arm.

 _I love you best_ , said Charles, fervently.

 _< < And I you, >>_ said David, running a soothing hand down Charles’ back.  _< < At least that was a very interesting piece of data. >>_

_Will you try all the stuff before I eat it?_

David smiled at him.

_< < Of course. >>_

The burn of the wasabi had gone down by now and Charles made a last sniffle and accepted a piece of sushi from David’s chopsticks.

 

 

 

They did presents before dessert.

In the end, raw fish wasn’t that bad – but Charles liked the fried tofu and the chicken sushi the best. When the fish was burnt on the top it tasted better, but Charles had refused to try the scallops (too wobbly) and the caviar (raw fish babies?). David on the other hand delighted in trying every single different thing available, including a squid thing that was entirely too glistening and too slimy.

Rhodey and Happy and Tony were all slightly tipsy from the liberal amount of alcohol. Pepper was flushed too, pink in the cheeks, but she was projecting happiness and content so loudly that Charles was feeling also pleasantly wobbly. She had an arm slung around Charles’ shoulders, pressed close, and kept trying to hand feed him. Charles liked her perfume.

“Presents! Presents now!” said Charles, sliding off his seat under the table and retrieving the boxes and envelopes.

“Aww!” said Pepper, delighted. She put down her chopsticks, “Really?”

“Hey, I helped,” said Tony.

Rhodey elbowed him in the ribs, “That is not a good thing. You have terrible taste in presents.”

Tony’s face contorted in indignation.

“I do not! I have fucking amazing taste in presents.”

“Hey – don’t’ swear there’s a baby in the room!” said Happy, pointing at Tony with one of his chopsticks like a spear.

Charles pushed the wrapped box into Pepper’s lap, and a bright blue envelope on top of it.

“Be quiet all of you,” said Pepper, “I’m about to open my present.”

“NO!” said Charles, “You have to open the card first.”

“ – name one time,” Tony was saying, “When I gave you a bad present.”

“You forget my birthday all the time!” Rhodey said.

Pepper reached over and whacked Tony across the knuckles with her chopsticks.

“Ow!” said Tony, but settled back to pay attention.

Pepper opened the envelope with a swipe of her fingernails. When she pulled out the card, glitter floated out and stained her fingers. And her dress. And the uneaten sushi.

Oops, thought Charles.

 _< < We used too much,>>_ said David woefully.

But Pepper didn’t seem to be minding it – she read the card quickly then gave Charles a big kiss on his cheek.

“You are the sweetest,” she said, “It must be genetic if Tony hasn’t ruined you.”

“Hey!”

“Look,” she said, holding up the card for their audience.

Rhodey stared appraising.

“That’s a lot of glitter.”

“Are you a princess?” said Happy, squinting at the card.

“I’m a queen, obviously,” said Pepper, “that is a queenly crown.”

“I drew it,” said David, proudly.

“It’s very good,” said Pepper.

“Why does she get to wear a crown?” asked Tony.

“Because she’s the boss,” said Charles.  _Duh._

“What. I’m the boss.” said Tony.

“But Pepper does all the work,” said Charles.

At this, Pepper let out a shriek of laughter, throwing her head back and clutching Charles with both arms. Rhodey snorted and clapped Tony on the back.

“What is it, that they say – “ he started.

“From the mouth of babes…?” Happy finished.

Rhodey and Happy clinked shot glasses and fist bumped. Tony flopped back onto the floor dramatically with a groan.

“Some ice for that burn?” asked Rhodey.

“It’s so nice to know that  _someone_ around here recognises my hard work,” said Pepper with an exaggerated sniff.

“Open your present!”

“I actually did help,” said Tony from the floor, “We picked it out.”

Pepper slid the box out from the blue wrapping paper; a burst of surprise when she saw the logo and then she was sliding out the jewellery box from its cardboard wraparound. It was a flat, square-ish thing and she pried the lid off.

“Oh my,” said Pepper.

“DO YOU LIKE IT,” said Charles, listening very hard.

Then Pepper started laughing. She kissed Charles on the forehead, then turned the box around to show the class.

Rhodey sprayed sake all over table.

“Holy  _shit,”_  he said.

Happy face palmed.

“WELL?” asked Tony, who was perpendicular once more.

“It’s…very sparkly,” said Pepper. She lifted it out of the box and put it on her neck. The crystals caught the light, a kaleidoscope of rainbow colours.

She was very amused. Charles couldn’t tell whether this was a good thing.

“Here,” said David, and helped Pepper redo the clasp at the back of her neck.

“Did you, ah, choose it?” asked Pepper.

Charles’ nodded.

“We changed it to your favourite colour,” he said, beaming, “But Tony helped.”

“ _Helped,_ ” said Rhodey, the collapsed with laughter.

“Well it’s very nice,” said Pepper solemnly, forever cementing her place in Charles’ heart. She gave him another hug. Tony was pouting very loudly from the lack of hugs, and Pepper took pity on him and gave him a kiss, before returning to her seat.

 _I told you she would like sparkles,_  said Charles.

 _< < Hmph,>>_ said David.

“Well,” said Tony, “I have another present for you.”

“Oh no,” said Rhodey and Happy in unison.

“Shut up – it’s,” Tony cleared his throat. “Hold on.”

He gave David a meaningful stare.

David!

 _< < Hold on,>>_ said David then got up and slipped through the door. He returned five seconds later with a tray of champagne flutes, a glass bowl of strawberries and a still-smoking champagne bottle.

“Oh  _Tony_ ,” said Pepper, delighted.

“Is that the ’98 Lagerfeld?!” Happy demanded.

“Yes,” said David, neatly dropping strawberries into all but one of the glasses.

“Hold on,” said Tony, momentarily derailed, “How do you know about it?”

“Happy helps me with my dress shopping,” said Pepper, “He has good taste.”

Happy preened.

Rhodey met Charles’ gaze across the table.

“None of this means anything to me,” he said, “Yay, champagne?”

David handed them all a glass. Even Charles got one. He held it very carefully because the glass stalk of the flute was really so thin. The bubbles fizzed, golden and honey warm.

“To Pepper?” said Rhodey, holding up his glass.

“Yes,” said Tony. He waited until everyone clinked glasses and was drinking.

“Congratulations Pep. You’re CEO!”

Rhodey choked on his champagne.

“What!?”

“Does this mean I get a promotion?” Happy exclaimed.

“Wh – no! You’ll be doing all the same stuff, just answering to Pepper.”

“Going from you to Ms Potts  _is_ a promotion,” Happy explained.

 Charles sipped his champagne and made a face. It was disgusting! He handed it to David.

_Can I have the strawberry at the bottom?_

_< < You don’t like the taste? >>_

“So is it yes?” Tony demanded.

Pepper laughed.

“Mmhm,” she said, drinking out of her glass and smiling over the rim, profoundly amused.

“Why is it,” said Tony, pointing an accusing finger, “that you don’t look surprised at all.”

“Oh Tony,” she said, “David ran the proposal past me first. Because he’s a reasonable, considerate person unlike  _some people_  I know.”

Tony turned on David, who had managed to fish out the strawberry with a clean chopstick and was feeding it to Charles.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony shouted, “It was meant to be a surprise!”

“Oh my god,” said Rhodey, draining his glass.

“A  _surprise_ ,” Tony repeated, plaintively. Charles  crawled over David’s lap to give Tony a hug around the middle.

“And a very nice one it was,” said Pepper, putting down her glass. “Now. Dessert, anyone?”

 

:i:

 

 

 

>                    _Stark Industries, New York City.  
>                    Three days later._

 

On hindsight, Tony should have realised something was wrong as soon as the simulation aborted mid-way. As it were, he was interrupted by his phone ringing – the work phone (which he always conveniently ‘forgot’ to take home with him in order to avoid boring calls).

Downing the rest of his coffee in one go, he pushed away from the bench until he bumped into the next table. He poked the phone warily, but relaxed when he saw the caller ID. It was Pepper.

Tony grinned and swiped the green call icon.

“Hey – "

 _Need your old boss back?_ He was going to say,  _Miss me? The minion’s giving you trouble on the top floor? I’ll be right there._

Instead he was cut off by a piercing buzz. His hand jerked a fraction of an inch before Tony found his vision swimming from the pain of it, the sound screamed through his ear like a drill, and he couldn’t move,  _he couldn’t move._

_…Tony?_

Oh god.

Panic was sour at the back of his throat, his heart hammering as he tried to blink, tried to focus, and couldn’t even twitch. The fear clogged up his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

He could still hear though.

And he heard the door of the lab open, the soft hiss of the doors. He couldn’t turn to see who it was, but the footsteps (flat, leather shoes; heavy) weren’t Pepper. He wanted to move, get out of his chair, but he couldn’t move. Every nerve in his body was scrunched up tight, seized up and frozen.

Then someone spun his chair around.

It was Obie.

Tony tried to speak, but all that came out was an exhale that barely struggled its way out. He was slipping in his chair, legs unable to keep him up.

“Easy,” said Obie, quiet and false, voice dripping with satisfaction, “ _easy_  now.”

With a hand on his shoulder and one on the chair, he pushed it away and lowered Tony to the floor. The tiles were cold against Tony’s thin shirt, seeping, staining, wet.

_Tony, we’re coming!_

The swell of fear made Tony feel like he was going to throw up. It echoed, rattling inside his own head like a bullet ricocheting in a metal drum. No, not Charles. Not Charles too. 

He screamed, as loudly as he could, _NO. Stay at home, stay with David, don’t – get Pepper, ring Rhodey right now do you hear me? Stay at home, don’t leave the house –_

“Great old favourite, that one,” Obie was saying, setting something heavy – a case? – on the floor next to them and hunkering down so he was looming over Tony, familiar features stretched into a smile.

“Never approved of course, which is a shame. So many…applications for short-term paralysis. A bit of a trick putting it into that phone, given how small it is. The effects will wear off sooner, I’ve been told. But I’m sure you won’t last that long. Not without this.”

He rapped his knuckles against the glowing arc reactor in Tony’s chest.

Desperately, Tony tried to clench his hand, kick upwards, anything. He choked with the effort of it, and his face listed to one side. Obie brought it back with bruising fingers around his throat and jaw.

“No, no,” he said, “You’ll look at me when I’m talking to you.

It wasn’t as if Tony could look away. Obie’s eyes were flat and dark. He thought of all the times he had gone to the man in confidence, for advice. He remembered Obie after his parents died, arm around his shoulders, saying,  _It’ll be alright. You’ll pull through. And then you show’m what you’ve got._

“All those months you spent ignoring your responsibilities, Tony.”

_Tell David to lock down the penthouse. Don’t let anyone up. CHARLIE._

_We’re coming._

_NO. (not you, not you too, Christ Brian I’m sorry - )_

Obie turned away then, and Tony heard twin click-clicks of metal latches opening. Then a hiss as Obie disengaged something. He couldn’t see – his fingers twitched desperately against his thigh, useless.

“When you got back, I thought, perhaps it’s a stroke of fate. That suit – genius, though I’ll admit it was hard working from incomplete plans and scraps. Even so. That android of yours…well, when we get our hands on him…”

Obie set the metal contraption against the arc rector; matching it up.

“But you.  _You_ decided to hole up and play happy families with that telepathic  _brat.”_

He pulled on the lever and the thing clenched down, metal legs digging into the side of the arc reactor’s case, twisting it until it detached with a click that made Tony choke.

The white noise in his head threatened to suffocate him.

“And then you made that bitch CEO. And…well. You know what they say about camel backs and straws, right Tony?”

Obie gave what might have been a self-depreciating smile, then pulled at the arc reactor.

It left Tony’s chest with a metallic  _click,_  and a sudden rushing sensation as the power source left the magnet and the emitter whirred to a stop. Tony convulsed on the floor, tasting copper and blood at the back of his throat but unable to cough.

Obie was holding the glowing arc reactor up to his face, admiring it. The light threw his features into sharp relief, the greed and delight outlined in blue.

With an almighty effort, Tony managed to move his hand, and he tried to kick upwards, tried to turn and get off his back – but all he managed was an uncoordinated jerk of his right hand. The back of it knocked into the case, and something clinked.

Obadiah wrenched the arc reactor free of its tethers.

This time Tony managed a scream. And Charles was screaming too, the sensation wrenching at his heart, worse than getting that phone call  _(“Something has happened. I’m so sorry, Tony.”_ ); horror and panic clawing at the both of them until Tony couldn’t tell who was who except he couldn’t breathe because his chest was burning and something was slowly but surely compressing his lungs.

He was aware of his legs kicking feebly (moving!) but Obie was already detaching the arc reactor from its holster. He moved, momentarily out of Tony’s line of vision. Then he returned, holding – no, it wasn’t the arc reactor.

“It’ll be a tragedy,” said Obadiah, still in that conversational tone of his, “An unfortunate accident really. Like the late Mr Xavier.”

Tony stared at him.

“But you know, these things happen. Technology isn’t infallible.” He eyed the hole in Tony’s chest and the fake arc reactor in his own hand.

“This is just an estimation. Let’s see if it fits.”

Slotting the edge of the model into the arc reactor’s fitting, Obie simply pushed, twisting the thing and forcing it in. The metal grinded against the wall of the chamber, and Tony convulsed again, the shock of it felt like it was lighting up every nerve in his body, making his fingers numb.

Absently, he was aware of groaning. The sound might have been coming out of his own mouth.

Obie shrugged.

“Good enough,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. “They’ll find you like this. Cardiac arrest – the arc reactor battery failed. But it was experimental technology, one you hadn’t bothered testing or running past any of our engineers.”

Obie patted Tony’s face with faux pity, shaking his head. “I tried to warn you, Tony, that it wasn’t safe. But you refused to let us look at the prototype. Such a tragedy.”

Tony could hardly think through the pain in his chest. It felt like his veins were on fire.

“ _Bri,_ ” he managed to cough out.

Obie raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t really think it was a traffic accident, did you? A convenient set of explosions? Xavier withheld important discoveries from us, and so we couldn’t rely on him to deliver anymore. He had to go. Like you have to go.”

Tony went cold.

“You should know that you forced my hand,” said Obie, closing his case with a snap, “I didn’t want to kill the golden goose. But maybe Charles will prove to be a chip off the old block, huh?”

Tony clawed at Obie’s leg.

“No,” he said, desperately, “ _No._ ”

“I’ll pass on your regards to Pepper, when I see her next.”

He tried to get up, tried to stop Obie from leaving – but all it took was a casual kick to where the fake arc reactor now resided – and Tony’s vision tunnelled in a wash of pain.

 

:i:

 

_< < FOCUS ON ME,>>_

“Hurts,” said Charles, curling in on himself in the driver’s seat as the car took a sharp turn to the right. He coughed, trying to take deep breaths, trying to listen to David and just David because it  _hurt,_ but he didn’t want to leave Tony alone –

_< < Charles! >>_

Charles tried to concentrate, walling himself up, David – David was talking.

“Pepper has contacted Agent Coulson. She will be here soon. Rhodey is also coming. But Tony doesn’t have time – and neither do I. You know what you have to do?”

Taking a huge breath, Charles nodded, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Repeat it back to me,” said David, pulling up outside Stark Industries and projecting the layout of which stairs they would be taking, the shape of the arc reactor, the twist to the wrist – straight into Charles’ head. He didn’t bother parking, just threw open the door, rounded the car and scooped Charles into his arms and ran for the side door. The entrances opened for David without a single swipe of the key.

“Take cutter,” Charles repeated, “Back. Twenty centimetres. Once opened, take out battery.”

 _< < Very good, go on.>>_ said David as he forced a lift to open and stepped inside. Obadiah was in the different wing of the building; David forcibly jammed the lift he was in. That should get them enough time.

 _Stay with Tony once you have replaced the battery_ , Charles recited,  _Keep in horizontal but elevate head. Wait for Pepper while you find Obie._

The lift doors slammed open and David ran with Charles down the corridor – it was deserted, which was not unusual for this particular section of the labs, Tony did all his project work here, when he needed equipment that wasn’t available back in Stark Tower.

“Obadiah has initiated my fail safe sequence,” David was saying, as the lab doors whirled by in a rush of colour. Charles clutched at David’s neck, scared.  _< < I have been attempting to override it via my primary directive, but JARVIS has already gone offline. I do not have very long. You need to do this very quickly. >>_

_David I’m scared._

_< < I know. But you must be calm. >>_

David came to an abrupt stop, pressing his hand to one of the doors and slipping through before it had fully opened. He put Charles to the ground and –

“Tony!” cried Charles, running across the room to where Tony was sprawled on the ground. His eyes were open, but they were glassy and unclear. Charles tried to project calm feelings but his heart was hammering so fast he felt like he was going to be sick.

Tony’s face was the colour of milk, and his veins were so dark they were almost black; an ugly lattice creeping up the side of his neck and his cheeks.

At the sight of Charles, Tony made a strangled sound, and his hands came up, clutching at Charles’ arms.

_No. No. What – you were meant to stay at home. No. no. no. no. no. no._

“Charles!”

It was David, who had already taken off his shirt. He lay down next to Tony, on his stomach, and handed Charles a laser cutter. It was shaped like a pen.

_< < Remember what I said. I have already activated it, you just need to – yes, hold it like that.>>_

Charles’ hand shook.

“Will it hurt, David?”

_< < No, I have turned off my sensors. Now, make an incision, starting here. Yes, press down the button now.>>_

Charles pressed, and a thin beam of blue white light and heat appeared at the end. His hand wouldn’t stop shaking and he held it with his other hand.

“David – “

 

_< < You are doing so well. Keep it there and move to your right. Yes, that’s it. That’s it a bit further. Alright you can stop now. >>_

Charles let go of the button immediately and dropped it on the ground, breath coming in fast flutters. There was a scarring line down David’s once smooth back, and it was leaking something clear and fluid.

“Good boy,” said David, voice calm and soothing, “Now I need you to peel it back.”

Charles felt sick. He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He shook his head.

“I can’t. David, I don’t’ want to – “

_< < You have to! It won’t hurt. Stay with me and you’ll see it won’t hurt one bit. I can’t feel it. Go on, I need you to do it, I can’t reach it myself. >>_

Putting his hands on the scar, Charles squeezed his eyes shut and pulled. The skin came apart in his hands, wet, the texture strange beneath the human exterior, revealing the metal innards. Charles opened his eyes. Then screamed a sobbing shriek of horror.

 _< < CALM YOUR MIND, CHARLES, >> _David was projecting, urgently, but Charles’ panic seemed to have jolted Tony into lucidity.

“Charlie?” he said, “you can’t be here.”  _Oh god, you can’t be here what are you doing here._

 _< < It’s alright now,>>_ said David.

The metallic chamber in his lower back seemed to shift, the fine silver plates hooking into one another until a hole was revealed, where a glowing arc reactor lay. There was a smooth metallic churning noise, and then it popped out of its groove, just enough for someone to pull it out. And that’s what David did, disengaging the battery from his own back and rising smoothly to bend over Tony.

“You’re d-disobeying your primary directive,” said Tony, words hoarse.

With a deft flick of the wrist, David pulled the fake arc reactor from Tony’s chest, then rapidly connected the tethers to his own battery.

“With due respect, sir, I am not,” he said, and twisted the arc reactor back in place. Tony arched off the ground with a cry, shuddering and choking on air, and Charles cried out with him, the force of the sensation too strong to be shielded. But the relief was there too; a weight lifting and the flow of oxygen making Charles light headed.

He threw himself onto the floor so he could hug Tony around the neck. Tony wrapped one arm around him, grip desperate. Their pulses rattled in their veins, skin touching.

David ran a quick palm over Tony’s chest in a systematic grid motion.

“Damage not too severe,” he said, “However, I need to apprehend Obadiah Stane before my reserve power runs out.”

“Not enough – “ Tony coughed, “Not enough time, take Charlie and get out.”

 “Is Tony going to be okay?” asked Charles.

“David. Get Charlie back home. Right now.”

_David!_

“David that’s an order!”

“If Obadiah Stane is not terminated, he will pose a continual threat,” said David, already getting up. His back was still ripped, an empty slot where his batter had been. He pulled on the Stark Industries shirt, hiding it. “I must eliminate risks as expediently as possible. Those are my primary protocols.”

And then he left at a run, disappearing from the lab before Tony could say another word.

 

 

A long moment of silence followed, filled only by Tony’s laboured breathing. It was evening out with each passing second though, the colour returning to his face. He tried to push himself up and Charles stirred, remembering his task.

“David said you should – “

“ _Fuck_ what David says!” snapped Tony, fury and anger and fear in every thought, “I told you to stay at home.”

“But - !”

“ _I told you to stay at home!_ ” Tony shouted suddenly, gripping Charles by the shoulders and shaking him, eyes wide and panicked. There was blood at the corner of his mouth.

 _You were gonna die!_  Charles shouted back, unable to stop the tears from welling up again, _I felt you! I felt you going!_

Tony stared at him, aghast, like he had been slapped. Then he forcibly took a deep breath, hand going to his own chest and David’s arc reactor.

“JARVIS?” he called, “JARVIS I need you to get Rhodey on the line.”

No answer.

Tony was pulling himself to his feet laboriously, hands clutching at the nearest work bench. Charles stood up too, trying to help.

“JARVIS.”

“David said JARVIS was put to sleep,” said Charles, “He said – a fail safe – “

Tony swore.

“Yes. Yes, Pepper has those too. It was….in case anything happened I – if he activated the failsafe for David as well then he hasn’t got long before he goes offline too. Goddamit! He won’t last without the arc reactor anyway.”

Tony was at the monitors now, the ones still running, typing hunched over the keyboard.

Charles could feel David somewhere three floors below them, but David wasn’t projecting legible thoughts anymore, just a blur of presence that was too fast for Charles to really comprehend.

On one of the screens, Rhodey’s voice suddenly came through the speakers.

“Tony? Is that you?”

Tony let out a coarse laugh.

“Yes. Yes – “

“I’m on my way. I got David’s message – “

“Time?”

“Fifteen minutes away,” said Rhodey, and there was the sound of blaring horns and swearing in the background, “I was half way to the airport you fucking – are you alright?”

Tony was pulling up another screen.

“Charles’ is with me. I need you here yesterday.”

“ _Charlie?_  Alright, I’m driving as fast as I can without killing anyone, jesus – “

Then David disappeared.

“I need you to – Charles?  _Charlie!_ ”

“Tony? What’s going on. Tony you still there?”

It was like someone had cut off half of Charles’ senses. It was like going blind, a sudden  _rip_ and then gone.

He didn’t realise he had collapsed until he felt Tony shaking him, hand patting at Charles’ face, his hair, a string of pleas falling to the floor like water from cupped hands.

“- hey Charlie, buddy, what happened – Charles!”

_…David?_

“Tony, you are freaking me out, what the fuck is going on – “

_David’s gone._

Tony stared at Charles for a minute, uncomprehending. Then his eyes widened.

“Alright,” he said, “We’re getting out of here.”

_We need to get David!_

“We can get David later, right now I need you to get you somewhere away from Obie and that is basically somewhere not  _here_. Do you think you can walk?”

Charles could hear the people on the street. He could hear people in the building; typing emails, drinking coffee, staring out of windows and thinking of other things; numbers and complicated equations. He could hear every soul from here down to the corner of the street, where a girl was impatiently tapping out a rhythm on her phone whilst she waited for the pedestrian light to turn green.

“Tony I’m nearly there, just hold on, alright? Pepper says they’ve found Obadiah’s suit. Did you know they were building this? They’ve got it secured, he won’t be getting to it.”

He could hear everyone, except David.

“Alright,” said Tony, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Tony tried to carry Charles in his arms, but stopped at the pain still radiating from his chest, his breath shallow. He pulled on Charles’ hand instead, and half hauled him across the room with his other arm hooked beneath Charles’ armpit.

 _David’s in trouble,_  he said again, but Tony tugged him out the door and towards the foyer.

“David will be fine,” said Tony, gritting his teeth. Charles could feel the ache in his own ribs, like stabbing pinpricks all over. “Alright I don’t think we can take the stairs, we’re gonna have to risk the elevator.”

He jabbed his thumb at the down button, one hand still gripping Charles’ own in a vice like grip.

They watched the numbers flash in the little display. Charles shivered.

“It’s gonna be okay,” said Tony, releasing Charles’ wrist to run a hand through his hair. The hand was shaking. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

Then the elevator made a gentle chiming noise; doors sliding open.

And Obadiah Stane stepped out, gun first.

 

:i:

 

_David had lost motor control and function of his limbs. He had felt them go, shut down one by one by a failsafe code he could not override forever. But he still had enough power to vocalise._

_He needed to be careful._

_He needed to convince Obadiah Stane to decide the risk was too great, and leave._

_“Remarkable,” said Obadiah, running one hand down David’s arm, feeling the texture of his skin, the soft dip at the inner elbow, the veins and fine hair on his arm. He turned David’s head left, then right, then left again, assessing. “You could almost not tell the difference.”_

_“I know of your attempts to recreate the suit,” said David. “I have relayed this information to Ms. Potts and Agent Coulson. It would be in your best interests to leave now and evade capture.”_

_Obadiah’s breathing stuttered, tension pulling his shoulders taut. David was good at reading body language. But now he had no way of responding._

_“You will not be able to retrieve it,” David went on, “The most logical choice of action would be to take one of the vehicles downstairs and lose it in the city. It will give you at least a two hour window, if you leave now.”_

_Obadiah Stane stood up. He smoothed down his jacket and adjusted his cuffs._

_“Ms Potts knows, you say?”_

_David met his gaze calmly._

_“Well,” said Obadiah “I suppose I’d have finish the job myself.”_

_And that was when David realised he had made a terrible mistake._

 

:i:

 

Tony was hyper aware of two things: Obie’s gun, pointed at Tony’s chest, and Charles’ presence to his right. He still had one hand on Charles’ head and instinctively he slid it down to his shoulder, bodily pushing him back, shielding him with Tony’s own body.

Not that that was going to be much good, if Rhodey didn’t get here soon.

Obie snorted at the movement, walking steadily towards them and backing Tony away from the elevator doors. He still held the gun, trained and unwavering. There were stairs leading from the door to their right, and another set at the other end of the corridor.

_Tony –_

_Be quiet. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, I promise._

“There’s been a change of plans,” said Obie, pausing, “For me, at least. For you, Tony – well you’re meant to be dead either way. And if I don’t make sure of it, then  _I’ll_ be dead.”

“Why?” said Tony, “Who wants you dead?”

Stall him. All he had to do was stall long enough until Rhodey arrived. A few minutes, tops – he just had to keep Obadiah talking, then Rhodey will probably shoot him in the kneecaps and Charles will be all right.

Just keep him talking.

But Obie seemed to guess what he was doing because he barked out a laugh. The safety wasn’t on.

“The same people who wanted your parents dead,” he said. Then his gaze shifted to Charles for the briefest of moments. “And yours.”

He looked back to Tony.

“Unfortunately, we are both short on time,” said Obie, finger moving to the trigger, “So – “

There was a burst of desperate alarm from Charles, and Tony caught a glimpse of his resolve just before he took a step out from behind Tony and said, telepathically and out loud:

“…what’s Hydra?”

Obie’s eyes widened in genuine shock for a split second, before his face contorted, mouth pulling back in a snarl of disbelief and rage, the gun moving from Tony down to Charles –

Tony threw himself forwards  at Obie, in front of the gun, in front of Charles, taking advantage of Obie’s momentary distraction. His momentum managed carry over, bringing them both bodily to the ground in a hard thud. The gun went off simultaneously, embedding itself in the wall and making Charles yell in fright.

“Charlie!” said Tony, trying to wrestle for the gun, to knock it out of Obie’s hand. He had Obie’s legs pinned underneath his own knees, but Obie brought his other hand up in a blow that glanced off Tony’s chest, knocking the arc reactor so it seem to rattle against his ribs. The pain made Tony recoil, but he managed to keep Obie on the ground, managed to stay on top of him. They were both scrabbling for the upper hand, and whilst Tony was fitter, Obie was both taller and heavier.

“Charlie,” Tony shouted, “Get in the elevator, get  _in_  –“

All the breath went out of him as Obie managed to throw them onto their side, freeing a leg and digging it painfully into Tony’s groin. Tony gasped, wrenching at Obie’s gun arm with one hand and scrabbling for his eyes with the other.

He could feel Charles’s indecision beneath the panic and frozen terror. He didn’t want to leave Tony. Christ.

“You’ll stay where you are if you know what’s good for you, boy,” Obie spat out.

Tony hooked one arm around Obie’s neck and slammed him back onto the floor with a crash that dislodged a glass vase on a near by coffee table. It fell to the ground, showering them with shards of crystal

“ _RUN,”_  Tony shouted, struggling to breath beneath Obie’s weight. He was beneath him, but had one of Obie’s legs pinned now – shit, the gun – Tony hooked his free arm around Obie’s gun arm from behind, locking the elbow with his own and wrenching it back. There was only one thought in his head: get it away from Charlie, away from –

There was a  _bang._

Then Tony and Obadiah were both screaming; a sick, consuming pain at the base of his spine (slick, hot, cold like a blade’s edge slowly turning). They moved away from each other in jerking, aborted movements, too consumed with pain to think about anything else – Obie’s face was a mask of agony, one hand scrabbling at his own back and the other still clutching the gun.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the feeling vanished; leaving Tony panting, heaving, face down in the glass.

“What the fucking hell – “ Obie was saying, scrambling to get up.

But no sooner had he moved, the pain flared again, intense and hot.

And Tony realised – he realised –

“ _No_ ,” he said, struggling to his hands and knees.

It was like his body was not his own, and all he could see was Charles on the floor, crumpled on his front. There was blood on the back of his hoodie, forming a growing pool of red beneath his stomach.

Charles’ thoughts were woozy impressions –  _Dad. Tony. Okay? –_ and the rest was rapidly growing numb. He was probably going into shock.

Distantly, Tony could hear someone, delirious, desperate  _(“Oh god, oh god no, please, please, no, no, no, please,”_ ).

Charles’ eyes were open and bright, like a stunned bird on the ground, mouth slack and expression empty.

 _CHARLES,_  Tony projected as hard as he could,  _Charles!_

  _…Tony?_

Then Obie kicked Tony hard in the stomach and he fell backward, hands sliding against sharp glass. When Tony blinked, all he could see was the barrel of the gun. His arc reactor felt like it was burning a hole right through him, bleaching his soul dry.

“Enough,” said Obie. He looked mad. There was blood on the side of his face. He steadied the gun. Tony closed his eyes.

Several things happened at once.

The elevator doors chimed. There was a shout – Tony’s name. Obie’s finger moved to the trigger. And then, so loud and deep it reverberated down to the core of his bones:

_NO. NO. STOP._

And Obadiah did.

He fell forwards, expression almost surprised; eyes open, flat and blank like someone had switched him off.

It was the last thing Tony saw before slipping into unconsciousness.

 

:i:

 

> _HSS, New York City.  
>                    Ten days later._

 

He didn’t look up when the door opened.

The air was stale with unsaid things, tense and heavy.

A sigh.

“That man is just doing his job,” said Pepper, coming around to the window side of the bed.

Tentatively, she pulled up a spare chair and sat down next to Tony, hands in her lap.

“I wish you wouldn’t shout at him like that.”

Tony put his tablet on the bedside table. On the opposite side, machines breathed and beeped. Charles didn’t stir; yet to wake up.  _Psionic trauma_ , they had said.  _What level empath did you say, sir? How long has it been since Charles was last tested?_

“I fired him,” said Tony, shortly.

Pepper sighed again, and when he turned to look, she had her face in her hands.

“Tony…”

“And I don’t want Charlie staying here much longer,” Tony went on, fingers claws on his own knee, “Won’t do him any good when he wakes up. Too many people here. He needs to recover from whatever he did to Obie. Somewhere quieter.”

Medically speaking, Obadiah Stane was not dead.

But he might has well have been.

“You can’t… _move him out_  – the doctors need to monitor his condition!”

“They can do it at Stark Tower. It’s not secure here. And anyway, Charles needs a different surgeon. Someone who fucking knows what they’re doing.”

“Tony, Charles doesn’t need another surgeon,” said Pepper, with the exhaustion of someone who has said this before. And she has been saying this. Repeatedly, like Tony might give up if she says it enough times. It made something ugly swell in his chest, and he had to bite his own tongue, clench his teeth, keep his mouth closed.

On the bed, Charles’ back rose and fell as he breathed, quiet and without a sound.

“I’ve asked some people to come in and look at the penthouse,” said Pepper, quietly, “The bathroom should be refurbished by tomorrow and I think we should take out the bean bag in the living room to make more space for the wheel chair.”

Tony picked up his tablet again to hide the trembling in his hands. It didn’t work. He tried taking a breath and holding it in – but it leaked from his perforated lungs. 

“We are not remodelling the living room.”

Pepper shifted in her seat.

“The flooring is all different levels right now, it’s going to be hard to manoeuvre with – “

Tony threw the tablet to the ground. It didn’t break, but the noise made they both flinch.

“I said  _we are not remodelling_ ,” Tony repeated, standing up, knocking his chair back. Pepper stood up too, clutching at her own elbows. She looked tired; eyes red rimmed – but all Tony could see then was someone giving up.

“We’re not going to redo the living room because we won’t need to,” he said, the words scraping his throat raw, “I’m going to fix this. Charlie wont’ be in a wheel chair long enough to need – “

“Tony, please, be reasonable,” Pepper started, but they were talking above each other, sentences meeting half way and no one was hearing anything. There was a loud buzzing rattling the windows, filling the room, drowning them.

“I said I’m going to fix this!” Tony shouted, all the stillness suddenly imploding in him, and he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being in his own skin, “I’m going to fix this and he’s  _not going to be in a fucking wheel chair_.”

Pepper was crying now, tears streaming down her face as she pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut like she couldn’t stand to look. He instantly regretted raising his voice, but didn’t know what to say.

“I just need more time,” he said.

“I can’t do this, again,” said Pepper, her voice unsteady,

“They’re not considering all the options.”

But it seemed that it was the wrong thing to say, because Pepper just kept crying.

“…I- I can’t. I need a moment.”

“Pep – “

But she turned away, still crying and was gone in the open and close of a door.

 

Tony stared at the absence of her and felt, suddenly, very alone.

:i:

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy phew. That was emotionally draining to write ~~I can't believe I paralysed a 8 year old babu~~ \- please do leave feedback if you can, I'm super bad at action scenes and I dunno if i pulled off the dialogue/emotional reactions! 
> 
> A few misc notes: I tried to subtly (and not so subtly) weave canon into this chapter, and in the next few chapters we will see more of how the Mutant Rights movement has progressed (or not progressed) in the 'future.' We will also get STEVE!!!!!! Woot. 
> 
> Also 10 points to those who know the identity of the two strangers in the gelateria hehe :3  
> PS: a non-marvel character is appearing in the next chapter. Last chance to say NAY, or forever hold your peace XDD <3
> 
> PPPPS: would any one be interested in a Ask Bri tumblr activity because I recently watched lots of Hugh Dancy and have feels. If you want to prompt/see a time-stamp fic/backstory, feel free [drop me a line here!](http://fishwrites.tumblr.com/ask)


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